Dulcet Devotion
by WinterSunshine
Summary: The fourth and final installation of the Reimagined series from Edythe's POV. Beau and Edythe have the rest of forever in front of them-the wedding day is here, the honeymoon is set. With all their troubles behind them, the couple truly believes the danger is in their past. But the danger has always been external, until now... Rated M for adult content.
1. Long Night

**A/N:** Okay, guys—we're finally here! I was basically just trying to get a little ahead on pre-writing, which is why I was trying to hold off on posting, but… I was just too excited! As I said before, you can find the playlist for this one over on 8tracks, as always, if you want to hear the musical inspiration behind my writing. (My username over there is WinterSunshine as well.)

A few of these chapters are—obviously—going to be pegged MA, NC-17, etc. We're adding in all the stuff we missed from the original, so things are gonna get… steeeeeeeamy.

Here's the first one (and with it, a couple of the conversations a few of you have been looking forward to ;] )

Let's get to it!

 **.**

"I'm gonna miss you tonight."

I sighed, smiling softly up at Beau from where I laid beneath him on his pillow. "I'll miss you too," I whispered, reaching up to run my fingers through his thick, soft hair, raking my nails ever-so-softly against his scalp.

He groaned very softly, and suddenly our lips were very busy.

It was the night before the wedding, and I'd let things go as far as they could possibly go, by my standards.

Beau was wrapped tightly in the quilt from his bed, but otherwise, we were pressed as close together as we could possibly be. He liked to complain about the barrier between us, but it had been something I'd been unwilling to compromise on. I wasn't willing to put his warm, fragile skin any closer to me than was necessary. For the necessity of his warmth and health—and that of my own sanity, as well.

Where the blanket hindered the contact of his skin against mine, it did not do much for his hands. Every trail of his fingers across the exposed skin of my collarbones, neck, shoulders and arms did strange things to my body and mind, making it difficult to concentrate.

More and more often, coupling in with the swirl of distractibility and pleasure, was a feeling of anxiety I could only equate to stage fright. I had made my promises, and the inevitable fulfillment of those promises would be upon us soon. Not that I didn't desire to satisfy Beau's requests; I wanted that just as much as he did. But _he_ didn't need to worry about what might happen in his fit of passion… He didn't bear the burden of his lover's life on his shoulders. He was not responsible for being hyper-aware of every touch, every move, every caress.

That responsibility was in my hands alone, and I was as equally terrified as I was anticipating those intimate moments.

Now, Beau's lips parted against mine, and his sweet, succulent breath fanned across my mouth, swirling down my throat with the fire of a thousand passions. It burned, yes, but the monster that had desired his blood with such vigor had long-since perished. However, that didn't mean I was any less dangerous to him… I constantly had to keep tabs on my thoughts, resisting the urge to pull him closer, to hold him tighter—always conscious that I could so easily wound him.

I could feel the familiar blur of my thoughts, unfocused and scattered by Beau's plush, warm mouth on mine, and the heat of his skin, the soft caress of his hands, one clutching my waist, the other tracing the indentation of my collarbone in an almost unconscious way.

I pulled back, putting an inch of space between us so I could clear the hazy fog from my brain.

But Beau, used to my hesitation, leaned in again, and his warm, soft lips pressed to the edge of my jaw instead.

"Beau," I cautioned him, careful not to let my voice shake, but his lips on my skin did strange things to my thought processes.

"What?" he whispered, and his warm breath washed over my throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shivering delightedly, and lifted my hands so I could push him back by the shoulders.

Where he leaned over me in his small, narrow bed, propped on one elbow, his eyes burned like liquid fire. His pupils were dilated, lush lashes thickly framing his gorgeous eyes—I would miss them so much. His lips were pink and full, and his hair tousled by my wandering hands.

He looked absolutely delicious, and as much as I would have liked to pull his mouth right back to mine, I knew this was where I needed to put a stop to things.

"You promised me you'd be careful," I tried to tease him, but my voice was just a little too breathless to convince, I thought.

He grinned widely, pearl-white teeth glimmering in the dull shine of his lamp. He shook his head at me. "No time for careful," he pressed, and leaned in to kiss me again.

Automatically, I felt my body lock down with stress. _No time for careful…_ Careful, indeed. If I rushed things as he would have liked, who knew where we would end up? In abandoning even a sliver of my carefully-comprised caution, it would be far too easy to tear a handful of hair from his head, or break his arm, or fracture his spine, or crush his pelvis, or…

"Beau," I whispered, hearing the stress in my own voice as his lips touched the corner of mine again.

He sighed, and turned to press his face into the pillow by my head. "Sorry," he apologized, "Crossing the line again. What's one more night, right?" He laughed once, shortly, a little breathless—and there was no malice in his tone, only the strain that came with the difficult of self-restraint.

But his words only tightened my stressed muscles further. The anxiety whipped my thoughts into a tormented tornado of fretfulness.

"One more night…" I heard myself whisper anxiously, "I don't know, Beau… I just… I can't—I can't concentrate when you're with me like this… I get distracted, _too_ distracted, and when that happens, I—I can't think straight… What if I can't control myself?" I fretted, "What if I _hurt_ you?"

Beau lifted his head to look at me, his eyes serious.

"You won't."

"Beau—"

"Shh!" He pressed his index finger to my lips to quiet my fretful monologing. "Enough," he said quietly, "It's going to be _fine_. Remember what we talked about… We take it as far as you're willing. When you say stop, we stop. All I want is to try."

I waited for him to move his hand away. When he did, I took a deep breath.

"Will it be fine?" Abruptly, my thoughts were drifting, easily distracted by the other anxieties that had been plaguing me. They skipped from the thousands of ways I could accidentally inflict injury on him to all the things he was sacrificing for a life with me. Regardless of the fact that he'd chosen this for himself, I still had a difficult time believing that he understood the pain it would put him through.

"It's not _right_!" I lamented. "I don't want you to have to give things up for me. I want to give you things, not take them away from you. I don't want to steal your future. If I were only human—"

"Hey, hey," he interrupted, his whole hand covering my mouth now. "Seriously," he insisted, "Enough. _You_ are my future. _You_ are enough for forever. Now stop moping, or I'll call El and Jess to come and get you. Maybe you _need_ a bachelorette party or a bridal shower or whatever it is they're throwing you." He rolled his eyes, but sudden anxiety surfaced there.

"What is it?" I asked him.

He shook his head, casting his gaze away. "It's nothing." His eyes lingered on the various packed boxes piled around his room. This would be the last night he'd spend here, under his father's roof, and I was distracted, momentarily, by how he might be feeling about that.

"How are your feet?" I couldn't help but ask. I was mostly teasing, but I wanted to be sure he was absolutely set on this, that he didn't have any reservations whatsoever.

He turned to look at me again, grinning widely. "Toasty warm," he claimed.

"Are you sure?" I felt my brow knit together with concern. "No second thoughts about ditching me at the altar? No one waiting in the wings?" I grinned, attempting to come off as joking, but I had been unable to shake the fact that any of the human girls that had gone to school with us would be a better fit for him than I undoubtedly was.

"Hmm," he teased, narrowing his eyes, "Now that I think about it, maybe I should tell McKayla not to come after all…"

I hissed quietly, surprised by the strength of the possessiveness that rose up inside me—regardless of the fact that I knew it was just a joke. " _I_ could do that…" I suggested, and my tone was thick with malice. "After all, who can defy the bride?"

Beau laughed and started to say something else, but just then, my sister's thoughts interrupted us.

 _Come out, come out wherever you are, baby sister! Or I'll huff and I'll puff—and I'll blow his house down!_

I rolled my eyes, groaning quietly. "Oh, for the love of all that is holy…"

"What's wrong?"

"Apparently, a phone call to El and Jess is _not_ needed. They aren't going to let me skip the party tonight, it seems."

I felt his arms curl tightly around me for just a moment, and then he released me. "Well—have a good time," he requested, rolling onto his back so I could get up.

El leaped agilely and clung with one hand to the sill of Beau's window. She lifted her other hand and dragged her nails across the glass, eliciting a hair-raising screech. "Oh, future Mrs. Swaaan…" she sang out, "Let down, let down your hair!"

"Enough with the fairytale references," I complained. It was almost painful.

Beau, however, seemed to think it was pretty hilarious. He laughed, the notes chorusing and easy. "Go!" he urged, " _Before_ they break my dad's house!"

I rolled toward him for just one moment, pressing my lips to his.

 _Ugh, come on! I can hear you kissing! Get down here already!_

I giggled softly, and advised Beau to get some sleep. Then I wheeled on the window across the room, sank into a crouch, and launched myself cleanly through the opening. I sailed through the air soundlessly, sightless to Beau's eyes, and fell back toward the earth, timing my velocity just right so that I landed directly on El's shoulders. The maneuver wiped her clean off her feet. Her head hit the ground so hard it left a little dent in the lawn.

El cursed and I grinned down at her from where I stood over her prone form.

She swiped at me, missing my calf by just an inch as I skipped away, out of her reach. My giggle was high and shrill in the black of night around us.

Above our heads, as El tried once more to catch me, I noticed that Jessamine was hanging from Beau's windowsill.

"We'll get her home in plenty of time," she was promising him, and she exuded soothing vibes.

"Uh, Jess?" I heard him say as she began to turn away, "What do vampires do at bachelorette slash bridal parties? There's not going to be any, like, half-naked firemen or anything, right? No one-dollar bills packed away anywhere?"

Eleanor burst into laughter, momentarily distracted from her offensive circling. "Don't tell him anything!" she called to Jessamine, and I took the opportunity to roundhouse kick her legs out from underneath her. She landed flat on her back, eyes wide in shock, and I laughed gaily again.

This was _fun_! And I was suddenly very much looking forward to the night of festivities with my sisters.

"No need to fret," Jess assured him, "We Cullens have our own version—just a few mountain lions, a couple of grizzly bears. Pretty much an ordinary night out." But suddenly, Jessamine was concentrating very hard on the wildlife we might stumble across tonight. Something flickered on the edge of her thoughts—hers and my sister's both—and immediate suspicion rose inside me.

As abruptly distracted as I was, I almost didn't see El's advance. As it was, I ducked just in time and scampered across the lawn toward the cover of trees. El barreled after me, and I leaped up into the boughs of a nearby hemlock.

"What are you two planning?" I asked suspiciously as she paused at the foot of the tree.

"Nothing," she blurted immediately, concentrating very hard on her next move, which was going to be to shoulder into the tree in an attempt to knock me loose.

At that moment, Jessamine joined us.

I leaped the thirty-five feet and landed between my sisters, glancing between them. "Hold on." I held my hand up to ward El's playful advances off. The game was over. "What's going on here? We _are_ just going hunting, right?"

I didn't particularly _need_ the sustenance at this point in time—I had fed well just days ago—but I would like to stay true to form and ensure I was adequately prepared. I'd rather be over-fed than under. Besides, this way, I wouldn't be required to leave Beau's side for at least two weeks. If all went according to plan, we'd be able to spend a lovely two fortnights together in the secluded paradise of Earnest Isle.

I had insisted the planning of the honeymoon be entirely left up to me—Beau hadn't cared in the least that I was taking that task off his hands. Not that he'd been involved in much of anything else. Beau's easygoing attitude let me and Archie make most of the decisions, which was fine by me. Archie and I had theoretically been planning this day for decades, and I was glad to have a betrothed who was happy to let me see my vision to fruition.

Earnest Isle, the honeymoon destination in question, was a small, secluded island a couple hundred miles off the coast of Rio de Jenairo, a gift Carine had bought for Earnest on their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Beau had made it clear he didn't care where we honeymooned. I was under the impression he was expecting we'd be spending our time somewhere gloomy and cloudy—so that I'd be able to do any sight-seeing or tourist-ing if we were so inclined. I was looking forward to surprising him with a healthy dose of sun—he certainly wouldn't be seeing it for a while after our homecoming.

Quickly, I forced off the melancholy thoughts that attempted to cloud my mind. For an instant, I paused, listening to the throbbing pulses of Beau's heart, in the house across the lawn. So little time of his humanity remained, and yet… I'd gotten so much more than I'd bargained for…

Two months ago, he'd made all of my wildest dreams come true when he'd dropped to one knee in the middle of our meadow, and had pulled his great-grandmother's vintage engagement ring from his pocket… The ring that sat on my finger at this very moment, glimmering softly in the mid-August moonlight…

"Let's _go_ already!" Eleanor complained, tugging on my free hand.

I didn't know what they were planning, but I'd been a part of El and Royal's reoccurring weddings enough times that I had a slim idea. Eleanor had always been more of an extravagant bride than I thought _I_ was, so I doubted it would be very similar to the celebrations we'd had in the past… This was why I'd given them joint title of Maid of Honor. Jessamine would be sure to balance out my other sister's antics—ensuring she didn't take things too far.

But as we grew closer to the house, my suspicion continued to increase.

"Why are we going inside?" I demanded as they towed me past the garage, where El's Jeep waited, toward the house.

Again, that same ghost of discipline flickered on the edges of their thoughts as they exchanged a glance, and Jessamine gripped my other elbow.

" _What is_ —" I started to demand, but at that moment, El's mental restraint gave way, and I saw what they were planning. "Ohh no," I protested, digging my heels into the dirt, but they continued to drag me forward anyway. "I said _no parties_!"

"Oh, come on, Edythe," Eleanor complained as Jessamine rolled her eyes over my head at her.

 _Some self-control you have…_

"Unlike me and Royal, we know you and Beau are traditionalists, and you'll _probably_ only get married once… So let us have our fun, too!"

" _I'm the bride!_ " I cried as they pulled me through the back door, still resisting. When I saw what they had put together in my absence, however, I skidded to a stop, my back-pedaling feet stilling. The white balloons, the streamers twisted tastefully amongst the ceiling beams, the metallic gold banner over the gossamer draped chair— _Miss to Mrs_ … And, not to mention, the impressive pile of gifts on the table and gathered on the floor next to said chair.

"Oh… My—"

"Awesome-sauce, right?!" Eleanor interjected, sweeping her arms out grandly.

Just then, my eyes fell on the cake table in the corner. "Is that a…?"

"Yep! It's a penis cake! Can't have a bachelorette party without a penis cake!"

"Oh _God_ ," I moaned, pushing my fingers into my eyelids, as if I could blot out the disturbing images, "How did you convince Carine to let you get away with this?"

"I've been looking forward to this day just as much as your sisters have," she said then as she stepped into the room. In her hands, she was holding a platter of clear plastic goblets, and a dish of maraschino cherries.

"No," I argued, "You've been looking forward to _tomorrow_. Don't misplace your excitement, Mom!" I begged as they pulled me toward the stairs. On the way up, we passed Archie, who poked his head out of his bedroom to grin at us.

"Why didn't you warn me?" I spluttered at him as Jess and El dragged me past.

"Warn you?" he repeated as we mounted the stairs to the third level, "But that would have ruined the surprise!"

Ten minutes later, my sisters had managed to squeeze me into an effervescent white dress several inches too short, a gaudy sash, and an equally as garish veil.

"This is _so_ not necessary," I pouted when Jess held out the pair of six-inch sparkling heels. They were not the shoes I would be wearing tomorrow—these were far too kitschy for appropriate wedding attire.

"Smile!" Eleanor chirped. As I glanced over at her, scowl still firmly in place, the flash went off. "Aw," she complained, peering down at the digital screen, "C'mon—at least _act_ like you're having fun."

Jess dropped the shoes and looped her arms around me, pulling me close.

"We're doing this because we love you," she sang before planting a sisterly, red-lipstick kiss on my cheek. I couldn't help laughing, and the flash went off again.

"Yeah," I said, "Like this is for my 'own good' or something."

"You never know," El said, turning to the mirror to adjust her glittery halter top, "Maybe it is." _I've got plenty of tips and tricks for you if you want them… All you have to do is ask._

Downstairs, I could hear the female half of the early guests gathering in the living room, and the familiar opening beat of Madonna's 'Like a Virgin'.

I sighed heavily, knowing I was helpless to stop the night's occurrences ahead, and let my sisters take me downstairs, where the party was waiting.

Renee, Elena, Amunet, Benita, and Patricia were waiting with my mother. Three pairs of maroon eyes, two pairs of gold, and one striking pair of blue eyes stared back at me expectantly as we made our way to the first level. I was passed through the crowd, my mother's friends and Beau's mom kissing and greeting me. For many of them, they'd only arrived this evening while I'd been with Beau, and it had been years since they'd seen me.

 _Such contentment in her eyes,_ Elena noted, _Carine was right. This human boy has been_ _ **very**_ _good for her._

 _Look at her smile,_ Patricia marveled, _She was not as jubilant when Charles and I were here only eighteen months ago._

"Okay, ladies!" Eleanor called over their excited babble, and the music—the poppy, bouncing beats of Madonna had since shifted to the latina cadence of Pitbull's 'Fireball'. "We're gonna do gifts first, and then games!" she grinned salaciously at me, and I groaned when I saw the various plans they had for this evening in her mind.

She pushed me into the seat of honor and shoved the first gift bag into my hands. I opened package after package of lingerie—each varying in color, material and modesty.

As I went on opening, each piece only seemed to get worse and worse—comprised of less and less material. If I could have blushed, my cheeks would have been steaming.

At least the guests' cards that had come along with their gifts were kind and filled with words of encouragement and happiness for me and Beau.

When Eleanor handed me the last parcel—a joint gift from her and Jessamine—I glared suspiciously.

She nodded at the bag in my hands. _Go ahead, open it._

Cautiously, I reached my hand into the bag in my lap. Along with the scantiest, laciest, blackest piece of lingerie yet, my sisters had felt it necessary to pack flavored condoms, titanium-grade fuzzy handcuffs, massage oils, edible underwear, and chocolate-flavored body paint.

When _that_ humiliation was over with, the games were presented. They began innocently enough—a questionnaire featuring the answers Beau had written, wherein I was to answer in the way I thought he would have. I passed that one with flying colors.

But the games steadily grew less and diffident, and more mortifying. Not only did they make me cut the cake—which boasted the lovely message that ' _the best was yet to cum'_ —and swallow a disgusting piece of it, but I was also forced to play the 'Cherry Game'. Obviously, this had been one part of the evening Eleanor had been looking forward to. As if forcing me to swallow a glob of the confectionary nightmare hadn't been enough for her, now she set one of the clear goblets in front of me, one of the cherries in the bottom. As I watched, she filled the entire cup with whipped cream.

 _Ready to pop your cherry?_ she baited.

When the games mercifully ended, I was relinquished from their entrapment to shed the gaudy sash and veil. I changed out of the dress quickly, into a comfortable pair of jeans, and then we headed down to the garage, where Eleanor's Jeep was waiting. At least _this_ part of the evening was holding true to its promise.

Ignoring the off-roading harnesses, we leaped into the vehicle and El revved the mighty V8 to life. She took us down an old abandoned logging road as we chatted and giggled easily. Unfortunately, I could not escape Eleanor's teasing as we eventually abandoned the vehicle and took off into the trees on foot.

Eventually, she tired of her goading, and we ran in companionable silence. For the first time in a long time, I was able to tune out my sisters' thoughts, more or less, and focus on the silence of the forest around me. It had been some time since I'd been able to run—just run. It used to be one of my favorite things to do, one of my first positive experiences in my new life. But in recent times, over recent struggles, I had found it difficult to keep my usually crowded head silent.

But this summer, all of my anxieties had been put to rest. Victor was dead, the Volturi knew of Beau's coming change, and most importantly of all: Beau had chosen to spend forever with me. He'd proposed, we were engaged, and tomorrow, we would be husband and wife!

I felt weightless as I practically flew through the trees, winding along the moss-carpeted woodland floor. I didn't realize how hard I was pushing my legs until my sisters cried out from almost a mile behind me.

 _Wait up!_

 _Are you trying to ditch us?_

I forced my too-keen body to come to a stop, and waited for them to catch up to me.

"Sorry," I apologized when they came into view, "Lost myself for a minute there."

 _In daydream or nightmare?_ Jess wondered, sensing the anxiety thrumming beneath the surface, as it had been doing for weeks now. She'd long since become used to the constant-presence of it, but knew as well as I did that it had been increasing in the last couple of days.

And then, as I really stopped to think about it… _Oh_.

All that lingerie… All the innuendos and fanfare that had taken place at the party…

The fretfulness racketed to an all-new high, and my blonde sister noticed.

The conversation I'd shared with my mother days ago had not seemed to abate the unease. She had always had more confidence in me than I ever had; she'd always thought me more capable of success than I'd ever thought I was.

With only days left until the wedding, I'd gone to find her one evening after Beau had fallen into deeper unconsciousness…

"Take a walk with me?" I had requested when I found her in the upstairs hallway.

 _Certainly,_ she acquiesced immediately.

We headed out the door together and crossed the great lawn, in the direction of the Sol Duc. We paced along leisurely, the stars brilliant and uncharacteristically bright above us.

 _Archie says the weather on Saturday will be just perfect,_ she mused.

"Yes," I agreed, "He's almost regretting letting me do the ceremony indoors. He thinks a thick canopy beneath the trees would have been enough to shield us from the sun… But I didn't want to take any chances. He sure put up a protest, however…"

We chuckled softly together at my brother's overbearing manner—forever an inarguable part of him—and then lapsed once more into mutual contemplation.

When we reached the rushing stream, Carine turned thoughtful, patient eyes on me.

 _What's on your mind, daughter?_

I sighed. "Isn't it obvious?" I wondered aloud. "The wedding's in a few days, and I… I'm anxious."

 _Not merely about tripping over your train, are you?_ she teased, smiling softly. However, when she saw how serious I was about this, her expression and thoughts immediately lapsed into perfect understanding and as much sympathy as she could garner. She pulled me into a tight embrace, and then leaned back and framed my face between her hands.

 _What has you worried, child?_

"You must know I would come to ask you about the wedding night… Beau and I have decided that we're going to… Try to have a real honeymoon, a real wedding night, and though it's something we both want desperately, he seems to have more confidence that we'll be successful than I do, and I know he won't pressure me to continue if I refuse, but there are just so many conflicting sensations inside of me, and…"

"You're worried you'll hurt him," she said out loud, hoping her physical voice would help to ground me. I hadn't realized until then that my breaths had become strident, my affect sharply distressed.

I released a long breath, and finger-combed my hair out of my face. "Yes," I sighed, "Very much so."

"I can't deny the prospect of your love-making has the potential to pose a very real danger to him," she said thoughtfully, "But Beau and I share similar viewpoints about your nature, Edythe." She paused, regarding my face and seeing only goodness, and the power of redeemable forces, of love. "We have faith in you, Edythe—well-placed confidence. As we discussed a few months ago, regarding your ability to start the change in him, your love for him, your regard for his safety, will give you all the fortification you need."

"I know that will undoubtedly play a role in things," I acknowledged, "I'd be foolish not to see its evidence in past experiences, but…" I felt my brow crumple with consternation, "This is one thing neither of us have any prior experience with… What guidance will we have, what instruction? Though we've been very careful, I know how easily he tends to distract me, and I'm afraid, with my every sense filled with him, that I won't be able to concentrate… As overwhelmed with sensation that I will be, that I won't be able to control myself. And from what I know of lust, caution is often not a powerful enough force to quench its fires…"

"There is some truth to that sentiment—but if you're thinking what I believe you are, the love between you and Beau does not parallel the same simple desire and affection of human contrivances."

"Maybe that's so."

"Physical love has its own unprecedented strengths, and if Beau hadn't changed your essential makeup so completely already, I would be concerned at how your coupling would alter you… As it is, I don't think you'll have those concerns to ruminate over." She offered me a soft smile. "As for the mechanics of it, I think you'll have enough wherewithal to be aware of your sensitivity and control; it'll merely be a matter of resisting the urge to clutch or grab or push. Try to stay as relaxed and lenient as you can. You'll see," she said with a soft laugh, "That you won't be required to make as many efforts as you assume you will."

The joke that was so personal to her flashed too quickly and vaguely through her mind to catch hold of.

She squeezed my hand, her mood somber again. "Whichever way you choose to approach things, I have supreme confidence that you and Beau will find your own ways to change and develop your intimacy. I can understand why you might be anxious, but rest assured, my daughter, you have very little reason to be… I believe in you."

Now, in the thick underbrush of Mt. Rainier, Eleanor's thoughts cut through my contemplative reverie.

 _Poor little prudy Edy, so scared to lose her V card…_

"I'm not _scared_ ," I snapped, an almost automatic reaction to her words—but how could I hold any flame of truth to those words? I _was_ scared.

Jessamine could sense that, and regarded me with a serious expression. _I can't tell if you're simply just nervous for the big day—as all of us were, or if there's more to the anxiety… It seems very deeply ingrained—not just surface level… You know we're here for you if you want to talk about something._

I sighed. Maybe it would do some good to confide in my sisters. As much as they'd joked and jibed, I knew at least Jessamine had the capability to take my concerns seriously. If El _really_ tried, she could, too… Probably.

I went to sit on a nearby moss-covered tree trunk, wondering where to begin.

My sisters didn't move for a long moment, watching me struggle to form words. The distress was apparent on my face as I pulled my hair up into an elastic, and then curled my legs to my chest.

Eleanor seemed to notice my apprehension now. _What's on your mind?_

"It might help to talk about it," Jessamine urged as she came to sit beside me, curling a supportive arm around my shoulders. "Nothing's off-limits—I promise."

Of course, they suspected where my anxieties lay—how could they not? They knew I was looking forward to both the ceremony and the reception. They knew I had no reservations about the party. What else _could_ I be worried about, except the wedding night?

Eleanor chortled to herself as she came to sit on the ground by my feet, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing her ankles. "So, was this his idea or yours?"

"It was… Sort of both of ours," I admitted.

Eleanor snorted, unable to help herself. "How's that gonna work?"

"I don't know," I groaned, dropping my forehead to my knees, "That's what I'm so anxious about! I have no idea what to expect, and neither does he!"

"You mean…?" Eleanor's voice trailed off into shock. "Never…? For either of you?" There was genuine shock in her mind—and steadily gaining on that shock, severely ill-placed humor.

"Never."

"I thought… I didn't think…" Jessamine trailed off, struggling to piece together the conflicting, scattered thoughts in her brain. Part of her simply couldn't fathom being _that_ close to a human. The pictures she tried to form in her mind came up half-formed, every one of them invariably ending in my teeth piercing his windpipe.

A savage hiss ripped through my teeth before I could stop myself.

"Sorry," she said, her eyes wide. "I just… Don't understand."

"I… Won't speak for him, but for me… I fell in love with Beau as a human. I want to love him in every way possible as long as he remains in that form." I shrugged my shoulders helplessly.

"Even if…" _It kills him?_ Jessamine couldn't finish the thought out loud.

"He said… He said he only wanted to try; that if I wanted to stop, at any time—then we'd stop and wait… If it became too much for me…"

Eleanor snorted. "Good luck with that!" In her mind, she pictured the inevitable course of numerous lovemaking sessions between her and Royal, and though I _didn't_ want to picture them like that, I couldn't but find myself infuriatingly curious.

" _See_?" I seethed, "I have no idea why you think that!"

"Would it help?" Jessamine wondered, "If we tried to tell you what to expect?"

"We could totally share our experiences, if it'll do you any good," Eleanor added, for once not a hint of jest or suggestive innuendo in her thoughts.

I was astonished by such a selfless suggestion. For a moment, I could only stare between my sisters, deciphering nothing but openness and willingness in both their faces and minds.

"You would… You would do that?" I was finally able to breathe, nearly inaudible.

Jessamine squeezed me tightly. "Of course; you're our baby sister."

"We want you prepared, at least!" El interjected.

And so, with graciousness and a solemnity I had not expected, my sisters shared with me their most vulnerable, intimate moments. Each of their stories were very different in not only age and setting, but in the connection they'd shared with each particular man, the details during and after, and then, each of their further experiences with their now-husbands. But there was one major similarity across the board: Each of them described the experience as a very great pleasure, both physically and emotionally, which they both agreed had only ever been bested by the taste of human blood.

Despite the fact that each of their first experiences had taken place in their human lives, dimmed by the muddy perception of mortal eyesight, memory and sensation, it helped to know what to expect.

"Will my body… React in the same way?" I wondered, almost to myself.

"That old hymen myth is bullshit," Eleanor said flippantly, "I never remembered feeling a thing."

But Jessamine's experience had differed. "I don't think there'll be any risk of any sort of… Giving way of your anatomy," she murmured, "Beau's body is… Well, incompatible with yours, to say the least—weaker, by comparison, definitely. Even if we _had_ been changed as virgins as you were, I have a difficult time believing you'll share the same experience as most pure brides."

I mulled that over for a moment, another question in my mind—but I struggled to find a way to voice it… However, they had been so personal, so uninhibited with me, that I knew they deserved my same willingness.

Jessamine sensed my hesitation at war with my burning curiosity. _What is it?_

"There's something else I've been wondering about…" I began tentatively. "What you said before, about… incompatibility…"

"Yes?"

"I have no way of knowing, but don't you think that we might come across… Some trouble?"

Eleanor gave me a puzzled look, and Jessamine's thoughts, as well, were confused—though she controlled her patient expression better.

"… Fitting together?" I hinted. "I mean, my skin is so hard and cold… Don't you think…?"

"Ah," Jessamine murmured, realizing.

 _Oh!_ Eleanor thought, as if a light bulb had suddenly been turned on in her shadowed head. Then she chuckled. "You might be surprised," she said.

"I've heard of vampires coupling with humans," Jessamine said softly, "Though it's quite a rare occurrence, it _does_ happen. Where do you think the term 'succubus' came from?" she asked with a wry smirk. "Again, I can't say for _certain_ … But much of our biological processes remain preserved in our immortal bodies. From what I've learned from Carine, a lot of the venom-based fluids in our systems perform the same duties as blood or saliva or… Other fluids..."

She and El changed a quick, smirking glance, and I was met with an image—of whom, I didn't care to know—depicting that example of 'other bodily fluids'.

I cringed away from the picture.

"Sorry," El apologized, and I groaned. Of course, she'd just named the owner of… Said body part… in the instant of her apology.

"Okay, okay," I said, "I think I get it. You're saying my anatomy is smooth enough, and that there's enough… bodily fluid function… to make that sort of thing… Possible."

"Exactly," Jessamine said.

"Your shape doesn't change, no matter how long you've been immortal," Eleanor said, "And a man and woman's body have always been, y'know, _made_ to go together."

"Got it. I think that's all the information I need." My voice was strained as I tried very hard to block out another example of the words surfacing in El's mind. "Please, can we go hunting now?"

That distracted her well enough, and she bounded gaily to her feet. "You bet!" she cried enthusiastically. "Let's go find us some grizzly bears!"

"Carine said the area's having another inundation of mountain lions again," Jess told me as El shot like a bullet into the trees.

"Just my poison," I said, grinning, and we turned in synchronization toward the place El had disappeared.

.

 **A/N:** I hope I did that conversation justice, and answered some of your guys's questions about functionality and such. I think this gender-swap side of things required a little bit more explaining. With Edward and Bella, well—the details of their anatomy didn't really matter so much for obvious reasons.

From the research I did in the illustrated guide, this was the best conclusion I could come to that made sense. As we've mentioned before, in the original Twilight universe, the Denali women coupled with male humans often, and so we know it's _possible_ … We just never knew the specific details of such a thing. Though a vampire's skin is hard, it is very smooth—giving the illusion of pliancy and softness, I feel. Along with bodily fluid functions preserved and facilitated by the venom in their systems, it seems to make sense to me. But if you have anymore questions, please let me know!

As always, please let me know what you thought of this first chapter! I would love to know! xo


	2. Nuptials

**A/N:** Thank you all for your wonderful responses to the first chapter! I was a little nervous about some of the discussed topics. I'm hoping I can maneuver my way through these conversations and scenarios with a class Edythe might approve of—haha!

I guess the one thing I didn't touch on last chapter was the nature of Edythe's icy skin. I feel as if such close contact with a human would warm her own skin. We know Edward mentions this in Twilight, during the meadow scene. (He says something along the lines of, 'See how warm you've made me?' and has Bella touch his cheek where it's been pressed to her heart.) So I'm thinking, prolonged skin-to-skin contact, as well as the sultry tropical air, the ocean water and various other factors may leave them more alike in temperature than usual… Anyway. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had a wonderful, girly time writing this chapter. I struggled back and forth between describing the dress in detail (everyone has their own imagination, right?) but in the end, I just couldn't resist. I tried to keep it traditional, modest, pretty and girly just like Edythe. I'll try and figure out how to link you guys to the specific gown I used as inspiration :) If that doesn't work, let me know - ( i. )

I also spent a LOT of time watching "Groom Sees Their Bride For the First Time" videos while preparing for this chapter, so you better believe it's gonna be an emotional one! I like to imagine Edythe walking down the aisle to The Piano Guys' "A Thousand Years" cover.

.

My carefree reprieve did not last long.

Almost as soon as the hunting instinct faded from my mind, sated with thirst as I was, the anxiety took hold once more. As the first fingers of dawn stretched over the horizon, I found myself wishing, with no small amount of intensity, that the time would move faster—carrying me toward late afternoon when the ceremony finally would occur.

Late afternoon seemed a very long time off as we skipped and chased each other through the rugged terrain of Mt. Rainier. Though it was an exhilarating thing to climb the trees, scale the craggy mountains, and leap expansive bounds with my sisters, there were still remaining parts of my mind that were consumed with the inescapable anticipation. If I were human, I didn't know how I would have slept through the night.

But there were other anxieties torturing me as well, constant wonderings of 'what if's'? The biggest one being: _What if_ Julie Black decided to attend the wedding after all? Would she risk the pain it would surely elicit in her if she came, just so she could make Beau happy? Unerringly, I was pulled in the direction of the night he'd said his final goodbyes to her, obviously believing that he would never see her again. He'd cried himself sick well after midnight, but it had seemed to cleanse him of all his doubt and indecision, for the next morning, he'd proposed.

As happy as I was without her, I had to wonder about her location. More than a month ago, she had abruptly disappeared. I knew it had caused Beau a great deal of concern, as well as his father. It had produced grating discord between Charlie and Bonnie when she, who was sure her daughter would return home once she'd worked through her grief and heartache, refused to take further action than a scattering of 'Missing Person' posters.

It would have been arrogant for me to think the invitation and letter of thanks I'd sent—unbeknownst to Beau—had any affect on her departure, but I _had_ to wonder… She'd been doing well for a number of weeks from what I could gather. And the day the letter had assumedly been delivered was the very same day she'd run away…

Regardless, I wasn't sure where I stood on the situation. Did I truly _want_ her at my wedding? By all means, to the outsiders, she would appear the 'other woman' if any of them knew of the hardship the three of us had gone through. But I knew enough from the experiences we'd shared that I considered Julie something like an ally, now. I wouldn't say I went so far as to view her a friend, but it was impossible not to have formed a connection with her over the course of our coalition in early summer—the allegiance instilled to defeat the newborn army the late-Victor had assembled in order to wreak his revenge on me, and ultimately to kill Beau. Together, we'd thwarted his plans, and Julie had been severely harmed just as the battle was ending.

Though there would always be a degree of animosity between us, something had changed the day I'd assisted my mother in attending to her wounds. I had always been grateful for Julie's presence and her willingness to help Beau recover in my cowardice last winter—and though I'd attempted to convey that gratitude as best I could in the letter I'd sent with the wedding invitation, I knew it would never be enough to make her understand.

Though I no longer considered Julie Black a rival, I could not say with any amount of certainty that I would have liked her to attend my wedding. But I knew it would bring Beau unprecedented joy if she _did_ show up, and so, with that factor in mind, I had to say that I _would_ like for her to come.

Eventually, we headed in the direction of home. It was midday when we arrived, and already the preparations were well underway. As we turned off the highway onto the long dirt drive, I saw that Archie had erected a simple hallmark. The slim wooden sign read, 'E B' with an arrow pointing toward the long row of trees leading toward the estate.

Archie—or whomever he'd persuaded—had slung thousands of yards of delicate twinkle lights and wreaths of baby's breath around the sleepy boughs of pine trees on either side of the drive, all the way up to the house. It was an enchanting, tunnel-like guide up to the front yard, and even for a vampire, the accomplishment was strikingly impressive.

As we taxied past the house, going round to the garage, I saw that the porch had also been enwreathed in more elegant bowery. The vision I'd had for the perfect enchanted forest-esque wedding was truly coming to life right before my eyes. In the time we'd been gone, my family had pieced together a short bridge nothing short of fairytale across the steps to the porch. Its posts and rails had been strewn with even more twinkle lights and flowers, with mason jars—whose contained candles were to be lit right before the wedding—placed at even intervals along the top of the railing.

"Wow," I breathed, "It looks amazing."

"And we're not finished yet," Jessamine said as the backyard came into view.

I stared, wide-eyed. Of course, I'd seen the vision in Archie's head, but this… This was more than I had expected… Two of the hemlocks which crowded the house were trimmed flawlessly in a way that left plenty of space to roam underneath, and as I watched, Carine and Earnest were at work hanging long strands of garland, flowers, and enormous, mesmerizing chandeliers from their rustic canopy. They leaped from branch to branch, foregoing the option of a ladder—and their supernatural exploits only added to the fairytale feel of it all.

The inside of the house was even more, impossibly, enchanting. Upon stepping foot through the kitchen door, I was overwhelmed by the prolific fragrance of roses—akita, spray and tiffany—, limonium, hyacinth, freesia and ranunculus. Not only that, but the living room now took center stage of our house.

Delicately spindled chairs, their legs woven through with Spanish moss and more baby's breath, flanked a white-rose petal strewn aisle. More bowery made a canopy over the seating arrangement, stretching from one end of the aisle to the other. At the front of the room, an archway stood, under which we would exchange our blessed vows. It, too, was draped in filigree and ornamentation.

Various other touches had been made with the utmost of care—the guest table and waiting area, and the embellished platform on which my piano stood, freshly polished and gleaming in the suffuse, mid-afternoon light.

It was _perfect_ , and for a moment, I could only stand frozen, stunned into speechlessness.

Eleanor's sudden presence behind me startled me—I'd been too enraptured to hear her approaching thoughts.

She curled a hand over my shoulder. "What do you think?"

"It's…"

"Perfect—I know." Archie was crossing the room, a box of boutonnieres in his hands.

I glanced toward the staircase, the steady sound of Beau's heartbeat reaching my ears. I hadn't realized I'd started that way until Archie stepped in front of me, cutting me off.

"Ah, ah," he chided, wagging a finger in my face, "You know the rules. You don't get to see each other until the ceremony… Believe me—he wants to see you just as much as you want to see him—but we're doing everything traditional here."

I arched a brow at him and folded my arms across my chest.

"Okay, okay," he relented, foreseeing my sarcastic comment, "Everything traditional, _except_ for the couple of honor. Still." He turned for the stairs, throwing me one more stern glance over his shoulder, "You stay away from him."

I sighed, knowing as much as I wanted to see him, I would honor the age-old tradition.

Jessamine met her husband at the foot of the stairs, kissing him softly on the mouth. They exchanged a brief moment of repartee, Archie enquiring about our hunting trip, she about how the preparations were going, before he started back up toward the second level.

Upstairs, as my brother's bedroom door opened, I heard Royal's and Beau's voices flood from within, and was surprised at my brother's willingness to be near him today. Then it shut again, and though I could still hear their voices, the sound was more muffled.

"There she is!" another voice said, and I turned in time to see Earnest coming in through the backdoor. He was beaming as he crossed the floor to me and wrapped me in a warm embrace. "How was the party?" he murmured conspiratorially in my ear, though I was sure he had known of its premise longer than I had.

I rolled my eyes. "Fantastic… Glad it'll never be happening again."

He chuckled softly. "I'm glad you let your sisters have their fun." He touched my cheek tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," I admitted, "Impatient. Thrilled beyond compare."

"All reasonable reactions on your wedding day."

We shared a smile, remembering the day he and Carine had married. It had been a beautiful proclamation of their love and devotion, though the wedding had been tiny. The number of guests hadn't mattered to my parents; they only strived to bind themselves together in the most traditional way possible.

"It was a beautiful day."

"As will be yours. Now go." He patted me on the hand, "You should be getting ready, and you know Archie will go berserk if things don't happen precisely according to his schedule."

I rolled my eyes, but turned obediently toward the stairs. "I swear—that boy is more obsessed with this wedding than I am. Maybe I should have made _him_ my Maid of Honor."

"Hey!" The double protest chorused from two different spots in the house.

Upstairs, I heard Archie send Royal off to pick up Renee and Phil from the hotel. He eagerly acquiesced, eager for something to do. He wasn't one for sitting around unproductively all day, but he also wasn't one for the intricate detail of wedding arrangements and decorations.

As my father laughed at my comment, I headed for the stairs.

.

The minutes crept by at an agonizing pace, but my sisters helped to make it an easier passage.

After I'd showered, I found them waiting in my room. Jessamine was putting the finishing touches on Eleanor's hair, which she'd set in big rollers, so they fell down her back in voluminous, bouncing curls. Eleanor was finishing her makeup in my vanity mirror.

They wore gowns matching in length and color—not quite silver, not quite lavender—but with slightly differing necklines and style details. Their perfect silhouettes were stunning, draped in chiffon and silk, and for a moment, I could only watch, pinioned by emotion as I was.

"Oh," I breathed, pressing a hand to the base of my throat. Lord knew how many times I'd stood in as a bridesmaid for Eleanor, and twice for Jessamine—once for their wedding, another for their vow renewals—but this was the first, and I hoped last, time either one of them would stand up for me. The moment was undeniable sentimental and rife with emotion.

Two pairs of honey-colored eyes flashed to my face, one wry with amusement, the other stunned and flattered by my sudden profusion of pleasure, which she could feel strongly in the air.

"You two… Are stunning," I whispered as Jessamine finished pinning part of El's curls back.

"I know," Eleanor said, winking, "Thanks."

I laughed. "Hold on, I got you something."

I ducked into my closet as they put the finishing touches on their faces, reaching for the spot where I'd hidden their wedding gifts. I knew I'd made the right choice immediately when I presented the velvet boxes to each of them.

The simple, but stunning, diamonds dripped like droplets of crystal water from their wrists and necks, providing the perfect complement to their beautiful outfits.

"Okay, okay, enough with the selflessness. It's _your_ turn." Eleanor grasped me by the shoulders and pushed me down onto the vanity stool, and then picked up the hair dryer at the same time Jessamine gathered a set of rollers.

I eyed them warily in the mirror, but Jessamine only smiled.

"Just close your eyes," Eleanor urged, "And let the magic begin."

.

Before long, Jess and El had styled my hair into a romantically relaxed chignon, embellished with delicate pearl pins. After that, they clipped in the veil, cathedral length, and dual-sided for the traditional purpose of covering my face as I walked down the aisle.

I sat in silence as they painted my face in a delicate bridal blush, sweeping mascara through my lashes and filling my lips with a subtle pink color. We didn't often wear makeup, as we never felt the need for it—there were never any imperfections to cover, after all—but on special occasions, we liked to dress up our faces as well as our apparel.

My sisters were helping me into my dress when I heard Royal's car turn off the highway and begin to make its way up the three-mile drive. Renee had arrived upwards of a week ago to help with last-minute preparations. She had been more than helpful, eager to be involved, but was also careful not to step on our toes.

"If at any time I'm over-stepping my bounds," she told me multiple times, "Please just say so."

She had done more than was asked of her, and numerous times I worried how she would fare in her state—she was almost five months pregnant, and I was constantly concerned that she would feel faint or tire easily, but she never showed a sign of slowing. The only indicator that her body was met with any resistance was the swelling in her ankles as the days drew to a close, when we sat together in the kitchen, writing out place-cards and the seating plan and various other hand-written details, talking quietly—often playing a few rounds of cards when we were finished with whatever task we'd tackled that night.

Now, another car followed Royal's off the interstate. Soon, the house would be inundated with human and supernatural guests alike. I felt a little flutter in my chest at the thought—but it wasn't one of nervousness.

As I turned my eyes on my own reflection in the full-length mirror on my wall, watching the shifting material waver and unfurl as Jessamine preened my gown, I could only see the burning excitement in my eyes.

Just as Jessamine had fastened the final pearl button at the top of my spine, I recognized Earnest and Carine's footsteps in the hall a moment before they stepped into the room. Carine was the epitome of perfection as mother of the bride beside Earnest, who looked dapper in his tuxedo, his bow tie styled into a perfect straight edge. My mother was sheathed in a beautiful wrap-dress that matched the color of her eyes impeccably, elegant curls pinned away from her face with matching topaz hair combs.

In her hands, she held an ancient wooden box, and I knew immediately what was inside it.

"Mom. Dad," I breathed, overcome with emotion.

"Hey now," Earnest chided as I blinked back the burning sensation in my eyes, "We're the ones who are expected to be overcome by emotion. Look at you." He reached out to take my hand, taking in the three-quarter lace sleeves and the A-line, organza skirt of my wedding gown.

"You make a beautiful bride, dear," Carine added, and when I looked into her face, the sentiment and emotion were as clear in her eyes as they were in her thoughts. "We're so proud of you, Edythe." She pulled me into a tight hug and then held out the box toward me.

I could only take the precious package, left speechless by her intention. Lifting the lid revealed a beautiful, genuine pearl necklace and matching earrings—the very same jewelry she'd worn on her own wedding day in 1922. I lifted my eyes to her face, floundering for the correct words to form the phrase of gratitude I wished to convey. It wasn't enough that she'd handed over her wedding gown to Archie and I, allowing us to subject it to its subtle alterations to just slightly modernize it… But this was too much on top of everything else.

Below us, the first level was an unceasing chorus of murmuring physical voices and babbling mental thought, but for the first time, I heard none of it. I was entirely and totally fixated on this moment alone.

I could read in my parents' thoughts, as I lifted the classic jewelry from its box and held it up to the light, that they had been waiting for this moment even longer than I had. For so long, my father had worried that Carine had incited the change in me at too young an age—that I might never feel the desire to marry, or form intimate relationships in kind. He had seen the inevitability of this day from the moment I'd brought Beau home to meet them. To Earnest, it had never been a matter of 'if'; only 'when'. Today's events saw him happier than word or thought could convey.

 _You have never seen a father more proud,_ he thought, smiling gently at me as his eyes shone brilliantly with fatherly admiration, _Or happier for his little girl. I'm so glad you've found each other. You complete each other in the way a husband and wife should. I know you'll share unending years of happiness together._

Carine helped me fasten the pearls around my neck, and then she stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders, as we gazed at our combined reflections in the mirror.

"Perfect—just the thing to complete the outfit." She grinned, her topaz eyes locking on mine. Like my father, my mother's thoughts were also filled with pride, tenderness, and unmatched joy.

 _Though you are the youngest in physical age, you are my first-born daughter—and it had always been my dream to pass these things onto you. As tremendously as life changed after I woke to my new life, there was one thing I knew I would always want: a family, a daughter… Many years ago, on the day I married your father, I didn't know if I would ever be presented with such an opportunity… But then, two years ago, you found Beau, and I knew you'd found a hope, a purpose, a life that was very different from what you've always known. I know how it feels to be lonely, to feel lost; I know how long you felt that way. As your mother, it pained me so to see you pass your days in such solitude… But no more of that. From this day forward, you will never be alone again. Congratulations, sweetheart—my eldest daughter._

I could not speak for the lump in my throat. I could only turn to embrace her as tightly as I dared. "Thank you," I breathed.

There was a mild throat clearing from the doorway, and I recognized my blond brother's thoughts immediately. He stood with his back straight and rigid, his hair gelled into a perfect coiffure, boutonniere pinned expertly to the lapel of his tuxedo jacket.

Eleanor was struck by a gust of almost carnal appreciation as she drank her husband in. Jessamine was made slightly uncomfortable by the sudden raw potency of their lust that swirled hotly throughout the room.

"Carine, they're ready for you to make your entrance," my blond brother reported solemnly, and then his eyes, at once gentle, flickered to my face and rested there.

"May I say… Congratulations, Edythe. You look… Magnificent."

"Thank you," I murmured, a little stunned by his unusually benevolent thoughts. For all the hostility and resistance he'd posed against Beau becoming one of us, he was sincerely happy for us on this day.

He held out an arm for my mother, and after hugging me quickly one more time, she turned to take it, allowing him to escort her from the room.

A couple minutes later, the music shifted to signal the start of the ceremony as Royal took his place at the keys. I recognized the familiar dreamy rendition of _Pachelbel's Canon_ immediately as it drifted to me through the floorboards. This was Beau's signal, and I drew in a breath as the crowd—the last of whom were taking their seats—collectively anticipated my groom's entrance. I switched between viewpoints, eager for one that would give me the best angle of Beau's and Pastor Weber's approach up the aisle, when I was suddenly and harshly interrupted by a firm hand around my ankle.

"Ah!" I gasped, automatically shifting my weight into the vintage satin heel of my right foot as El eased a frothy white garter over my ankle, shoving it up into place.

"Jess and I couldn't agree on whose garter you should get," she said, "So we had one made for you." She unceremoniously hiked the gauzy skirt of my dress up until it was nearly at hip level, showcasing the delicate band of ribbon and lace that hugged my left thigh. I admired it for a minute, and then El let my skirts drop as Earnest stepped once more into the room, bouquets in his hands.

"Big one's for you, right?" he joked, throwing a wink my way as he passed off the larger of the bundles to me.

As a group, my sisters, father and I moved into the hallway to await our cue.

Suddenly, I was awash with a strange sort of giddiness. Knowing Beau was waiting for me, knowing there were only minutes before we made the most important declarations of our lives, had me feeling a strange sort of warmth. It flooded my entire body, all the way to the tips of my ears. If I hadn't been sure enough before, there was no doubt in my mind now.

Every one of my thoughts was consumed by the dizzy impatience one feels before the most monumental moments of their lives. For me, this was the only one I could remember with any sort of clarity. Truly, this was the first day of the rest of our existence together.

First Eleanor and then Jessamine descended the stairs, their feet falling from step to step, and then up the aisle, in perfect formation to the music. Many in the audience were momentarily stunned by their beauty as they watched my sisters' progression. Archie's thoughts were laden with affection from where he stood beside Beau as best man as Jessamine walked toward him.

I fixed my eyes on my feet, waiting for the Canon to end with no small amount of impatience.

Earnest noticed my eagerness, and patted the hand that was looped through his arm. His thoughts were amused as he gazed down into my face, seeing the barely restrained agitation there.

"Can we go yet?" I whispered, almost breathlessly.

This time, Earnest laughed more indulgently. "Almost our turn," he assured me, and then he reached up to pull the veil's blusher over my face.

I sighed, and turned back toward the staircase. I could see just a sliver of the petal-strewn aisle at its base. If they made me wait any longer, I was going to run headlong down it.

Just then, Royal ran through an intricate flourish as he transitioned into his own rendition of Christina Perri's 'A Thousand Years'.

 _Our_ turn! Finally!

At once, every mind in the room was filled with anticipation. Many of the guests turned impatiently in their seats, craning for a glance of the bride waiting at the top of the stairs.

Earnest and I began our descent in perfect harmony. From the top of the staircase, I had the best view of the place. The thoughts and scents of almost two hundred people immediately broke into my awareness in a way that wasn't exactly unpleasant. There wasn't a bitter contemplation in the room as the wedding guests watched my descent.

In a way that punctuated my awareness, if only briefly, my eyes swept past the many faces turned toward me. In the back row, Sarah sat with her father, Sean, whose face was pinched with severe discomfort. On his other side, Bonnie Black sat alone. With a flash of surprise, I realized that Julie had _not_ come.

But I had no time to feel disappointment for Beau, because the fragrances of the room, the clamor of thoughts in my head, were still filling my mind.

Occupying five of the seats approximately halfway down the aisle on the left side, was the Denali coven. Kirill and Tanvir—their remaining brother, Ivan, had decided not to attend after all—sat toward the center, while Elena and her mate, Carmine, took the two remaining seats on the aisle. In a way that I was steadily finding inevitable, Tanvir gave me a wide, almost wicked, smile when our eyes locked for the smallest of moments.

The remaining seats were filled with all number of guests—friends from school, extended family, and so on.

But I didn't pay that much mind now, because in the single second it had taken me to realize all of this, my gaze had skipped entirely over their heads, and had fixed on the figure standing at the very end of the aisle in open view, waiting for me, and only me.

Beau was a dream—an absolute vision—in his classic black tuxedo. The fold of his pants highlighted the length of his legs, the black jacket only served to accentuate the firm muscles in his arms, shoulders and chest. The simple black bow tie was undeniably beguiling—only marginally crooked in a way I thought was charming. Nevertheless, I was surprised Archie hadn't felt the need to fix it. Maybe he'd seen the wide grin that would spread across my face when I saw its misalignment, and had decided to leave it.

The charming gathering of limonium, greenery and white rose pinned to the lapel of his jacket finished the look of with an air of casual, but prodigious, decorum.

And his face, underneath the carefully gelled arrangement of his dark and luminous hair, was flushed with color elicited by the weight of our audience. I drank in the lush lashes that framed the incredible ocean of his eyes, followed the straight line of his nose down to his perfectly plush lips, and the seamless edge of his jaw beyond. The luculent skin of his throat, framed as it was by the collar of his shirt and the black bowtie, pulsed rhythmically in time with his heart.

As immediately as my eyes had found purchase on his face, his had not yet met mine. His eyes were in the process of taking in the sight of me, as if in manageable pieces. His gaze climbed all the way from my shoes, up the swirling, chiffon skirt of my dress, over the lacy bodice and three-quarter sleeves, pausing at the pearls around my throat, and then to my face behind the lace-trimmed blusher.

I waited for his eyes to meet mine, and when they did, emotion swept through me with the strength of an explosion. The joy, the exhilaration, was unmatched. I could feel the exultant grin break across my face, and I could not reign in my ecstasy—I felt no need to.

In that moment, his clear blue eyes gleamed brighter than before—and for the first time, I could not fathom the words to describe the passion and deep emotion I witnessed there. They were more than sapphire jewels, burning brighter than the hottest of flames, more immeasurable than the deepest depths of the ocean. In a way that I never had been before, I found myself at an utter loss for words.

In the next instant, those magnificent eyes were suddenly damp with tears. The instant he began to cry, I wished I could, too. To see him so overwhelmed with emotion at the site of me flattered me more than words could say. I felt the stinging sensation behind my own eyes as I heard him gasp and saw his shoulders shake. Tears sparkled like crystal in the corners of his beautiful eyes and overflowed with every step that brought me further down the aisle.

When we came to him, the weighted, expectant silence hung heavy in the sweet, perfumed air.

Pastor Weber stepped forward. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

Earnest turned to gaze down at me through the blusher for one long minute, his thoughts tender and emotional. "I do," he said, and then reached forward to pinch the flimsy, lace-trimmed material between his fingers, bringing it up and over my head to drift over my shoulders. He leaned forward to kiss me tenderly on the cheek, and then turned to gaze at Beau with the same affectionate expression.

He extended our joined hands and Beau reached forward to take mine in his. Earnest released my fingers, and Beau enveloped them in his warm grasp, his eyes burning.

It was a very real struggle to turn my attentions to the minister when he began to speak, but somehow, I managed.

We had kept the ceremony traditionally simple. This had been the part I would have thought Beau was the most nervous for, but as Pastor Weber began his speech, I could detect no hint of reservation in his eyes. They merely bored into mine, jubilant and adoring.

As the minister said his part, the ecstatic joy only seemed to increase a thousand fold inside me. How had I received such an amazing gift in this man? A gift I had never known I wanted—or, more importantly, needed—until it had practically fallen into my lap… I knew I had done nothing to deserve the unyielding and unprecedented joy that unfurled in front of me like a red carpet, and I also knew I could do nothing to earn that right—not in the next ten, hundred, or a thousand years.

And, as I had learned, that just made it all the more special.

As we stood in front of friends and family, I was met with no shortage of pride or pleasure. The presence of our loved ones only added to my joy.

Mr. Weber's warm and caring voice intensified the celebratory atmosphere as he guided us through our vows.

"Edythe, do you take Beau to be your husband? Do you commit yourself to his happiness and contentment as a person? Do you promise to love, honor, and trust him in sickness and in health, in adversity and prosperity, and to be true and loyal to him for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." My voice chorused like a bell throughout the quiet room, firm and euphoric. Hadn't I committed to such a promise long ago—to love him with all that I was? To give him every part of me?

The words were so unassuming. _I do._ Two very short syllables, and yet… They held all the supremacy in the world.

"And, Beau," Pastor Weber said, turning to him, "Do you take Edythe to be your wife? Do you commit yourself to her happiness and contentment as a person? Do you promise to love, honor, and trust her in sickness and in health, in adversity and prosperity, and to be true and loyal to her for as long as you both shall live?"

Beau squeezed my fingers, which were locked between us and swallowed hard. The tears had ceased to flow some time ago, but now they seemed to surface there in his eyes again, shining but not overflowing.

"I do," he said, his voice quiet and muted by the strength of his arduous emotion; I knew for a fact that no one past the second row had heard him.

When the time came for Pastor Weber to declare us, I was already straining toward the kiss. I anticipated this one almost more than I'd anticipated our first kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear or uncertainty—there was only bliss, exhilaration and a deep, abiding contentment.

"Now, by the power vested in me by the State of Washington, it is my honor and delight to declare you husband and wife. Beau, you may kiss your bride!"

Beau surprised me when he quite literally swept me off my feet, plunging me into a dip so low, my hair almost swept against the floor. Then he pressed his plush lips to mine with a passion and devoutness that was impossible to ignore. For a minute, it was as if we could communicate every thought, every sensation and every emotion between us. In that very brief moment, it was as if I could suddenly, impossibly, understand the magnitude of his love for me.

I tumbled headlong into the undulating ocean of his adoration, never wanting, or feeling the need, to surface again.

.

 **A/N:** Yayyyy! They're **MARRIED**! Ahh! This was so fun to write :)

Please, _**please**_ give me your opinion on this one! Of course, things are a little different from the original, but I don't think _too_ much.


	3. Celebrations

**A/N:** Sorry I'm a little late on this one, everyone!

Some of you have got to start signing into your accounts, so that I can actually reply to your sweet and kind reviews! Seriously—to hear that some of you think I'm doing better than SM could have, or that I'm shedding a new light of perspective on the series… That is seriously **such** a compliment, so thank you! (Danni, Cam, I'm looking at you… You guys have got to quit that! LOL! I have so many words of gratitude I'd like to say to you, but I can't because you're reviewing as guests!)

Adele's 'Someone Like You' (or the cover by Ariel Currant, which is also super great) was the perfect theme song for Beau and Julie's heartbreaking reunion for me. (from her POV, of course.)

.

My family had done a far superior job of putting together the reception than I could have dreamed. The backyard had been turned into something from a fairytale—caught somewhere between forest bewitched, and _A Midsummer's Night Dream_.

Of course, Archie's drill sergeant scheduling had ensured no one would be stepping outside until twilight had come over the garden—which only added to its enchanting atmosphere. Copious garlands of flowers and twinkle lights stretched between the space between two primordial cedars, forming a sort of tent over the dance floor. Several tables draped in satin dotted the grass, complete with runners of greenery. In the center of each table, a round sliver of tree trunk displayed a perfect blend of tea lights, more floral filigree in slim vases, and Spanish moss. Chairs surrounded the table settings of course, their dainty spindles rung with more greenery and braided flowers.

Across the way, caterers were busy lining the long buffet tables with food. Steaming dishes overflowed with what, I was sure for the humans, must have been an appetizing profusion of aromas. The same greenery from the tables wound through the various carafes and saucers, overflowing with meat and cheeses, fruit and crackers, rolls and steamed vegetables, salads and various other side dishes.

And off to the side, a smaller, round table was dominated by our wedding cake—an artistic, five-tiered arrangement of confection and floral masterpiece.

Many of our guests roamed freely about the enchanting setting, drinking champagne—or sparking cider—as the waiters provided, and chatting amongst themselves. There was not one thought in the crowd that was not impressed by the decorations, and I was glad that they were as pleased with the party as I was.

Other attendees had formed a lineup as soon as we'd drifted through the glass backdoors, hand-in-hand, all of them intent on wishing us well. It seemed we doled out hug after hug, handshake after handshake. The steady stream of congratulatory thought and admiration was unending. I was glad to see that Beau's school friends seemed genuinely happy for him.

A second later, I noted with relief—and a slight tinge of nausea when I smelled the hallmark stench of their presence—that Sean had not pulled his daughter away from the wedding the moment Pastor Weber had declared us.

"Congrats, guys!" Sarah Clearwater enthused, ducking around a frothy, hanging garland of ribbon, rose and freesia.

Her father stood stiffly at her side, his hand half-raised as if to clamp down on her elbow at any minute. Even if the discomfort in his thoughts hadn't been apparent, his expression betrayed his anxiety. He was not happy to be here, and had only done so as a protective measure for his daughter, firstly, and an ode to the father of the groom secondly. His gaze continually swept past the Denali coven—wary of their presence. It was difficult enough for him to be near familiar vampires, but to be unexpectedly grouped together with these new ones was almost too much.

Bonnie, whose expression was significantly more relaxed, rolled up beside them as they approached. She had her hands resting languidly in her lap, and appraised Beau with happy eyes. Though she was saddened and aggrieved by her daughter's extended absence, she could see how happy Charlie was for his son, and she could not deny her own feelings of the same.

Sean Clearwater's face contorted with discomfort as Sarah glided forward easily to wrap her arms around my waist.

"I'm so happy things worked out for you two; you look spectacular."

Sean's fists clenched at his sides, irate thoughts protesting the disgusting and unnatural connection he witnessed between us. It did not make sense to an honorary elder of the tribe that a friendship should be possible between her daughter, a werewolf, and myself—a vampire, her mortal enemy.

But a lot had changed in the time we'd aligned against Victor's malicious plan of revenge. Against all odds, Sarah and I _had_ formed a bond, a kinship. Regardless of how the rest of her pack felt about us, the young girl had never allowed her sisters' prejudice to affect her own impressions of my family, and as a result, she'd formed her own conclusions, finding them positive.

I was thankful for her benevolence and her faithfulness.

"Sorry she couldn't make it," Sarah whispered in my ear just before she pulled away.

I nodded to her. "Thank you, Sarah. Your graciousness means more than words can portray." I pulled back from her scorching hug and turned to include Bonnie and Sean. "Thank you, as well. For letting Sarah attend the ceremony today, and for supporting Beau." I knew Sarah might have come for the both of us, but it was very clear where the two adults' intentions laid.

"You're welcome," Bonnie replied somberly. I could see that she remained distracted by her daughter's absence, hoping that if anything would have been able to bring her home, today's happenings would have been the key. Alas, she remained disconnected from anyone who cared for her, and the realization wounded Bonnie deeply.

 _Julie… My poor baby._

The trio moved on, toward the now fully stocked buffet tables, having noticed the growing line behind them.

The next couple to congratulate us was Allen—who had stood in as Beau's second groomsman—and Becca. As they embraced us, I looked back with fondness on the time Eleanor and I had played a key role in initiating the start of their relationship. I'd felt guilty for instigating Becca so, but I could see now, that it had all been worth it. Regardless, she had forgotten the snide remarks I'd made—but the joy and devotion between them remained.

I wouldn't be surprised if they were married before their college years were through.

Next came the Pastor and his wife, and then McKayla and Jeremy, who were holding hands. This seemed to appease Beau, but it by no means lessened the thoughts of hostility I had toward the blonde girl in the immodest, too-tight dress. She hadn't failed to let numerous errant, inappropriate thoughts slip regarding my new husband.

 _Beau in a tux… I just can't!_

I ignored the girl's inappropriate thoughts as best I could as they moved on to fill their plates.

Next to approach was the Denali coven, and suddenly, my focus was not as elusive.

As Tanvir reached down to embrace me, one hand straying just a tad too far down the illusion back of my dress, I struggled to compose my expression.

I was caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance—knowing Tanvir's thoughts of attraction toward me were dominated mostly by physical fascination made it easier to regard them in a far less serious light than was warranted. But I had not forgotten Beau's envy, and knew he wouldn't be pleased by the way Tanvir spun me in a tight pirouette now, as to examine every inch of me.

"My, my, Edythe," he murmured, just a touch too seriously, "You're a vision—an _angel_."

I laughed softly, maneuvering deftly out of his grip, melting a little more into Beau's side. "It's been too long, Tanvir," I said, resolving to draw the line once and for all. If he hadn't gotten the message by now, well, then, Tanvir wasn't as intelligent as I'd formerly assumed.

"It _really_ has," he responded, his eyes lingering on the waistline of my gown, the juncture where lace melted into gauzy chiffon, and the pearls at my throat.

I could hear Beau's heartbeat ratchet up several notches, and felt the air around him warm a couple of degrees. I knew he was feeling uncomfortable and tense in their presence, and resolved to fix that.

With a sudden weightlessness filling my body, I said, "Allow me to do the great honor of introducing you to my new husband." Each of them laughed in response to the obvious exhilaration in my voice. None of them quite understood the lure, could quite find reason to argue against the doubt and skepticism in their minds, but Kirill, Elena and Carmine were accepting in spite of that. Understanding Beau's intimidation when it came to Tanvir, I took the introduction one step further. "Tanvir, this is my Beau."

Let it be known, for once and for all, that this was where I stood—firm and unshakeable, by my husband's side.

Tanvir held his hand out to Beau, his thoughts remaining obstinately speculative of the depth of our devotion. I watched as Beau slid his hand into Tanvir's, and they shook once.

"Welcome to the family, Beau," he said, a wide smile stretching his lips, showing all his teeth. I could see in his thoughts that he'd had the intention of intimidating my love with the expression—but knowing Beau, he would never react appropriately. I knew the hammer of his heart was only in response to his feelings of envy. But when I looked into his eyes, I was surprised to see a hardness there, a steeliness, that I didn't quite understand.

He wrapped his arm more firmly around my waist, in an almost possessive gesture that made me grin. "Thank you," he said.

"We like to consider ourselves Carine's 'cousins' of sorts, and I'm…" Tanvir cleared his throat marginally, obviously made uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for the recent event during which we did not act as such. We should have been introduced much sooner." This apology surprised me. I had not expected it, but it did set my mind at ease.

"No problem," Beau assured him, a little unevenly, and I knew he ought to be feeling a little overwhelmed by the shower of attention that showed no signs of ceasing. "It's great to finally meet you."

"The Cullens are all evened up in numbers now," Tanvir noted, hiding the jolt of disappointment in his thoughts well as he turned to grin at his brother. "Maybe it'll be our turn next, eh, Kirill?"

The tallest brother of the three snorted as he reached out next for Beau's hand. "Keep the dream alive," he quipped, rolling his eyes sarcastically. Then he settled his jovial, accepting eyes on my husband. "Welcome, Beau," he said. By comparison, this brother had never been nearly as jealous, or licentious, as his brother.

"Thanks," he breathed, as Carmine leaned over to take his hand next.

"I'm Carmine," he introduced himself, "And this is Elena. It's wonderful to finally meet you, Beau."

"Me-me, too," he stammered as Tanvir swiveled his head to look over his shoulder.

Behind them, Charlie's deputy, Maggie and her husband, John, were waiting next in line. There was a large gap between their groupings, and Tanvir regarded the couple's stunned expressions with amusement. A flicker of something else rose in his thoughts as his eyes lingered, for just a moment, on Maggie's face, and then he decided that it was time to let the others speak with the couple of honor.

"Well, I think we've monopolized the bride enough for one evening." He turned his grin on my face again, just for an instant. "We'll find time to get to know each other later, Beau. We'll have _eons_ of time for that!"

They laughed together as they drifted off toward the seating plan.

There weren't very many people left in the receiving line now, and our next exchanges passed by at a quicker pace, at any rate. These people were not as closely associated with us as the rest had been.

Beau's stomach was beginning to rumble, and I was eager to get him a plate of food. I wondered if my drill sergeant brother had been responsible enough to keep him fed this afternoon.

When we were finally able to take our seats at the sweetheart table, the waiters descended on us with an immediacy I was impressed with. They set full plates and flutes of sparkling cider in front of both of us, and then left us to our own.

I kept my fingers linked through Beau's as he ate with his free hand, launching my forkfuls of food behind me into the wide expanse of open, darkened lawn every once in awhile, so it would look like I was eating.

A few people approached us as Beau ate, to chat and joke and offer more rounds of compliments.

The bustling chatter of the crowd eventually dimmed as our guests' stomachs were filled, and my father began the short procession of toasts, champagne flute in hand.

He cleared his throat, his butterscotch eyes resting on our faces for the moment it took to wrangle the crowd's attention. When he finally had their consideration, he spoke.

"Marriages, like births, mark a new beginning. The day Edythe came into my life was a new beginning for me. To be the father of a daughter seemed a bit overwhelming, but anticipation for her life and for our relationship to form helped me overcome my fears and work hard to be a father worthy of such a daughter.

"Today, we stand at another new beginning as Edythe and Beau start a brand new life together. Like me, they are probably filled with a feeling of being a little overwhelmed by it all, but those feelings will melt away in large part as they anticipate their new life together and as they build a relationship that will stand the test of time.

"Edythe, I've watched you grow and change over the years into this bright young woman in front of me, and I could not be prouder of the choice you've made in your husband. I know certain periods of your life have been difficult, but to see the undeniable happiness and joy that Beau has brought to you lets me know that you two will be very happy together.

"I only hope that you be true to each other always; share your joys and your burdens; love much and laugh much; be each other's best friend. Always speak well of one another, even in private. And when things don't go well, forgive as often as it is required. Married life is an adventure and you embark today on that adventure together. Even though you are individuals, the promise you've made today changes that separateness into one life, one soul. You are cleaved to each other now, and that is a marvelous thing.

"So today, your friends and family surround you as you begin something new and marvelous. Remember your promises, keep them with all your heart, and you will have that sense of joy and wonder that exceeds all you have heretofore known. With all my heart, I offer you my congratulations and warmest wishes as you begin the latest adventure life has to offer.

"So please, would you stand with me, and raise your glasses to the newlyweds, Beau and Edythe Swan!"

He lifted his glass high in the air, his eyes shining with triumphant pride as the clink of crystal chorused all around us.

In a way that seemed very natural, we were called up to cut the cake when the toasts were finished. This was one of the only parts of the wedding I'd really forced Beau's hand at—after all, _he_ was the one who'd have to enjoy it. But it was obvious that the intricate creation had taken even him by surprise.

Cameras flashed as we sliced into the bottom tier together, his hand over mine, and smiled for the camera. I slid the slice onto a small crystal plate, and then picked up the two small forks lying nearby.

Beau gave me a suspicious look when I handed him one of them, but I only grinned, hoping my smile didn't look _too_ fake as he picked up a small piece of the cake and slid it between my lips. I swallowed the piece whole, feeling the oil coat my esophagus as it slid down into my stomach.

My petrified innards rebelled against the unwanted presence of food, gurgling and clenching. In a way I only knew from extended access to humans' thoughts, and the witnessing of various illnesses, I knew that—if I'd possessed a gag reflex—the cake would have made its secondary appearance just then.

As it was, I would have to find a moment to myself to expulse the disgusting morsel.

From the sidelines, Royal shuddered with revulsion, and Jessamine slid a small stack of bills inconspicuously into Eleanor's waiting palm. Of _course_ they would have made a bet out of it.

Beau took the bite I offered him as the cameras flashed again, and then we stepped aside so the remainder of the cake could be sliced and handed out to the rest of the guests.

It was only a short while later that a chair was brought out to the center of the dance floor, and Eleanor held out my bouquet.

I was appalled, and I felt the petulant expression creep across my face as I stared her down. I'd insisted that this part of the traditional wedding festivities be omitted! However, as usual, my siblings had been entirely unable to pass up an opportunity to humiliate me. As such, they had thoroughly ignored me.

"You _knew_ about this," I hissed to Archie as I begrudgingly headed toward the chair.

He ignored me from where he stood on the other end of the gathering, speaking loudly and confidently into the microphone as he ordered all the unmarried women to the dance floor for the bouquet toss. I was not so oblivious to think that they would stop here—of _course_ the custom made garter had more purpose than mere decoration.

Though I didn't need a hand to steady me, Beau held his palm out toward me as I slipped my shoes off and climbed onto the chair. I glanced once over my shoulder as I prepared to toss the bundle of flowers in my hands, seeing El and Jess jostling for position at the very back of the assembled women.

 _Launch it, launch it!_ Eleanor chanted encouragingly.

 _I'm open!_ Jessamine cried from underneath El's constricting arm. _Kind of… Go long!_

They caught my smirk just before I turned back around. Then I sent the flowers wheeling over my right shoulder, turning to watch them arc, end-over-end, through the air and slam into the direct center of Becca Cheney's chest. She flushed bright pink as the bouquet toppled into her outstretched hands.

A raucous cheer went up as the guys clapped Allen good-naturedly on the shoulder, ruffling his hair and trying to force him down onto one knee.

I giggled, happy with my teasing little act, and hopped down from the chair.

As much as I knew it wasn't going to happen, I slid my feet back into my shoes and let Beau begin to pull me from the dance floor, back toward our table.

However, just as we breeched its edge, Archie appeared, a stone wall of opposition between us and the rest of the crowd. He would have appeared formidable except for the goading, wide smile on his face.

"What—?" Beau began to ask, his expression blank with confusion.

"You know what," Archie said, rolling his eyes, "Get back out there."

Beau turned searching eyes on my face, and he must have seen the answer there, because he immediately went red, and his heart began to race.

Knowing we were just about as resigned to the public display as humanly possible, I didn't see a point in fighting it, and only shrugged, smiling encouragingly up at him, then turned, pulling him back toward the chair.

I sank down into the seat as Beau shot a glance of mortification at my parents.

Archie gave him a little shove, and then stepped back to stand with my siblings, who hovered on the edge of the crowd, snickering at his racing heart and splotchy cheeks.

 _Poor kid,_ Eleanor sniggered, _Hope this isn't any indication of how things'll go for you tonight!_

 _Talk about red as a lobster!_

 _Jeez—hope he doesn't have a heart attack! Listen to his heart pound!_

Beau ignored the sultry music that had begun to play as he knelt down on the grass in front of me. Despite his discomfort, I couldn't help laughing as he took my left foot, his warm fingers circling my ankle, and slid my shoe off. He set it aside, and then glanced up into my face.

I gave him an encouraging smile as he rested my calf against his leg and propped the skirt of my gown up over my knee.

"No hands, Beau!" Archie shouted.

"Use your teeth!" Eleanor bawled.

The goading continued as he lowered his face, his shaking breaths bursting over my cool skin, to the filmy white garter that encircled my thigh. As he clenched it between his teeth, I could feel his lips tremble against my skin as he tugged it down over my knee, and calf, and then released it to unwind it from around my ankle with his hands.

Raucous cheers rose from the crowd as he turned, still blushing fiercely, toward the gathering of unmarried men. I watched as he stretched the dainty elastic into a slingshot and flung the garter, with uncanny precision, into Jeremy Stanley's unsuspecting face. The snap elicited by the elastic's collision with his forehead was heard even over the sound of the music, and almost immediately, a red welt was forming there.

The rest of his face was suddenly burning as well, as he held the filmy trousseau in his palms, staring at it with a bemused expression.

Once the cheering crowd had quieted, the familiar strains of our first dance song began to play, and I stepped to Beau's side, taking him by the hand.

Surprising me, he smiled easily as we walked to the middle of the dance floor together. He pulled me into his arms as we swayed easily to the romantic ballad beneath the canopy of flowers and lights.

"Are you enjoying the party, Mr. Swan?" I murmured as we twirled gently.

"Surprisingly—yes. Yes I am, Mrs. Swan."

I laughed softly at the sound of my new name—finally true. As difficult as it was to believe the words, it was also the most satisfied I'd felt this whole evening.

"Hmm," I murmured as I rested my head on his shoulder, "It may take me awhile to get used to that… But we have awhile, don't we?"

I could just see the edge of his jaw and the curve of his perfect lips from this vantage point. His blinding, pearly smile filled my vision. "We do," he agreed, "A long while."

I sighed, letting my eyes flutter shut as I drank in the very concrete truth of that. Then I lifted my head and tightened my arms more securely around his neck, pulling him down so that I could press my lips to his. Behind my closed eyelids, I could see the feverish flash of the cameras, but despite the obvious attention we were getting, I suddenly felt as if there were no one else in the world tonight, but us.

"Do you get the feeling," I whispered as we turned again, "That we're entirely and utterly alone?"

Beau did not glance once away from my face, and his eyes again filled with that fathomless devotion and ardor once more. "I know exactly what you mean."

Eventually, our song drifted to an end.

Renee's thoughts were impossible not to regard as she and Beau shared their requisite dance.

Earnest, aware that I was distracted, pulled me into his arms and swept me out onto the dance floor without so much as an inquiry. I went through the steps of the dance by way of unconscious muscle movement, letting my father take the lead as we whirled around the dance floor.

Renee's mind was at once a melancholy and prideful brimming of contemplation. Again, she thought so much in color and image rather than word that I found myself caught up in every contemplation. She remembered the progression of her son's life in a softhearted, poignant sort of slideshow—the moments after he was born as she held him cradled against her chest as the sun rose behind the hospital window, his first day of kindergarten, as he nearly collapsed under the weight of his knapsack—clumsy to a fault, even at five years old; the many moments after that—time spent at the kitchen table doing his homework together, bandaging his scraped knees, trimming his hair in the bathroom sink, family vacations, and the small, tender moments when she'd watched him from afar as he read to his stuffed animals, or scooped worms back into the grass after a rainstorm. It seemed to her that he'd grown into a man over the course of the blink of an eye—and she felt that she'd missed the most important parts.

In equal, Charlie's mental atmosphere was wrought with the same bittersweet deliberations—though not as sentimental and specific as a mother's memories always tended to be.

Soon enough, the song faded away, and Earnest escorted me back to the edge of the dance floor before extending a hand for Carine's.

I watched them glide around the dance floor like angels—dancing with a grace that wasn't quite human.

Beau and I were separated for several songs, continually swept up by another guest wanting a dance. By the time we finally found our way back to each other, it was not without some forethought and intention.

"I'm sorry," I said to Royal only thirty seconds into a new song, "We'll have to finish this later. Please, excuse me."

McKayla Newton's indecorous thoughts had broken their way through the thrumming din in my head, and my eyes flashed immediately to where she held herself against _my_ husband just a little too tightly.

I brushed off several approbations with polite variances of smiles as I wound my way through the dancers, to the other end of the dance floor where Beau and McKayla were awkwardly swaying.

"Sorry to interrupt," I purred, sliding a possessive hand over the firm pectoral muscle of Beau's chest, giving McKayla a smile that wasn't quite warm, "But I think Jeremy was looking for you, McKayla."

"Oh," she said, looking startled by my sudden appearance. "Um, thanks…"

I took advantage of her confusion to shift myself into my rightful spot, deftly nudging McKayla out of my way.

"Still not a fan of McKayla?" Beau murmured as I twirled underneath his arm, simultaneously pulling him away from the spot where they'd been dancing.

"No," I murmured, twisting one last time and coming to rest against his chest, "Not when I have to listen to her severely unbecoming thoughts about _my_ new husband." I leaned up to brush my lips along the warm skin of his throat, and he laughed a little uneasily.

"Yeah—okay." The skepticism was clear in his voice.

"I should have taught that girl a lesson a long time ago," I said thoughtfully, watching his eyes flicker uneasily over my head. I giggled softly. "Maybe asking her to leave would do just as well."

He shook his head slowly and gazed down at me. "I think you might be overreacting."

I pulled back a foot so I could drink in the delectable sight of him. He'd abandoned his tuxedo jacket and had rolled the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows, revealing the firm, lean muscle network in his forearms. On his left hand, his new wedding band shimmered in the demure twinkle lights over our heads. Midnight blue suspenders gripped his firm shoulders, creating a seamless contrast between light and dark along his long, slim torso—highlighting the perfection of his soft, warm body. The bow tie—which someone had since straightened—sat in a perfect knot at the base of his graceful throat, an inch below his handsomely jutting Adam's apple.

The hair gel either he or Archie had combed through his hair this morning had not been quite enough to stay his hairdo—and, disobedient, a few rebel strands strayed across his forehead. Underneath those dissident tresses, his eyes shone with lambent incandescence.

Without a word, I swiveled our bodies until we were standing face to face with our images, replicated in the glass back wall of the house.

"Overreacting, am I?" I intoned, curling my arms around his waist, and resting my head against his heart. "You are so magnificent tonight it makes my heart ache. There has never been a more debonair groom than you."

His straight brows crumpled as he processed the couple in front of him. His eyes flickered back and forth between our faces for a moment, but before I could watch the progression from confusion to understanding, the call of my name interrupted me.

 _Hey… Edythe… I'm here—so, if Beau wants to see me, you better hurry up and get him over here. I don't have all night._

I gasped, my eyes narrowing for an instant in response to her impatient words, and then widening, a smile taking flight as I imagined Beau's response to Julie's last minute appearance.

"What is it?"

"A surprise wedding gift." I turned to gaze up into his face, unable to veil my exhilaration.

She'd come after all! And though I could sense the uneasy underscore to her thoughts, she didn't regret her decision. As much as I knew it pained her to be here, she anticipated his reaction just as much as I did.

"Huh?" Beau said, but I didn't reply. It would be much easier to show him. I wound my arms around his neck, and his automatically encircled my waist as we began to dance again—though this time, I led him in the opposite direction we'd been heading, back the way we'd come until the luculent light and affable commotion of the party faded behind us, and we were hidden in the shadow of the surrounding forest.

In the obscurities of an enormous hemlock, Julie Black waited, her thoughts careful, and caught a little off guard when she saw him.

 _Wow… He looks amazing._

Her figure was easily discernable to me in the inky shadows of the trees. She'd pulled a little black dress on—the same one from prom two years ago—except she fit it better now. Her frame was leaner, hewn through with firm muscle and very little fat content—a result of running wild for so many weeks.

"Thank you," I told her sincerely, "This is unspeakably kind of you."

She did not take her eyes from his form, finding him flushed and relaxed, univocal joy in his face. She was glad that he appeared happy—but it also twisted her heart to see that it was _me_ he was happy with.

She'd been so used to dealing with things in the way of a wolf—as the creature, instincts were more prevalent than human emotions, and as a result, she'd been able to keep the devastation at bay for some time. In a way she hadn't quite expected, the heartbreak and anguish flooded over her again in this moment, and for an instant, I wondered if this was a good idea.

But in the forest behind her, her sisters were waiting and watching—knowing her self-control was capricious at this point in time.

"Unspeakable kindness is a part of my nature. Do I get a dance with the groom?" She was smiling as she said the words, but I could clearly discern the strain in her voice.

I heard the stutter in Beau's breathing, and he went uncharacteristically still beside me. "Jules?" he huffed, as if not quite believing it. "Is that you?"

"In the flesh."

Beau lurched forward, his torso more inclined than his legs, and I gripped his elbow as they wheeled, at first futilely beneath him, and then began to carry him toward the sound of her voice. He steadied himself harshly against her shoulder, his long fingers curling around her deltoid as he yanked her to him. In a way that looked very natural and controlled, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her hot palms against his back. She buried her face in his chest as he laid his cheek on her hair.

"You came," he gasped, the relief and the joy apparent in his voice as a few notes of disbelieving laughter escaped his lips.

"'Course I did," she murmured into his sternum. _Thanks for inviting me—you're right. I appreciated the choice. I'm glad I chose to come._

Confident that she was in control—and under enough supervision if she suddenly lost that composure—I left them on their own, giving them the time they needed to have these last few, unexpected minutes together.

"Royal won't forgive me if he doesn't get his official dance with the bride," I said quietly, almost an aside—and I turned as stubbornly away from the slash of jealousy that coursed through me as I turned away from the site them embracing in the shadows.

I could only hope that this time with his closest friend would give Beau the closure he needed. I knew he perceived this wedding as a 'Going Away' party of sorts, and that having Julie here had just made it complete in a way my efforts alone never could have done.

"You're not crying, are you?" Julie teased as I drifted back toward the dance floor.

"No." Beau's voice was thick with emotion and moisture.

Julie sighed, and I could almost hear her eyes rolling in exasperation. "Beau, relax. It's just me."

" _Just_?"

Julie was pleased with his obvious disagreement.

"Thanks for coming," Beau said as I scanned the assembled crowds for my blond brother. "Having you here… It just… It makes me happy."

"That was the idea."

As well as I was able to, I pushed their quiet exchange to the back of my mind, trying to give them the privacy they deserved, but also keeping a keen ear out in case Julie lost the tenuous grasp on her self-restraint. After running as the wolf for so many weeks, I didn't know how quickly her transformative instincts would take over, and I wasn't willing to take any chances.

Royal was waiting for me on the southernmost end of the dance floor; his arm was already extended and a wry expression on his face. I smiled as I found purchase on him. Sometimes it paid to have a psychic for a brother.

We swayed around the dance floor leisurely, in between the other patrons, not talking. Tonight, I let him lead—knowing he'd been far more chivalrous than any of us had expected of him.

Life had not been easy for my brother in these last few weeks; but despite his disgruntlement over Beau's abandonment of his human virtues, he'd done a spectacular job of hiding his displeasure. I knew it hadn't been easy for him.

"Thank you," I murmured as we executed the steps of our dance in perfect synchronization. "Not just for the spectacular performance at the ceremony—many of the guests can't stop talking or thinking about it—but for your exceeding efforts to make Beau feel welcome and comfortable. I know it hasn't been easy for you."

"I didn't do anything special," he muttered, averting his eyes, "It was no problem." But I could sense the self-conscious gratitude in his thoughts. Royal and I had always been too competitive for our own good, and the point of music had been a particular grievance. To know that I thought him more than capable of playing the piano for my wedding ceremony spoke to him on another level. Though he tried never to admit it, sometimes he could not hide his thoughts, and he'd always thought of me as the more skilled player—at least more practiced. My compliment meant more to him than he would ever let on, and I was satisfied knowing that, not feeling the need to push him to acknowledge it aloud.

The song ended, and I took the opportunity to duck inside to relieve myself of the gluttonous burden that had been residing in my petrified stomach for far too long.

When I stepped through the back doors again, I found a seat at an empty table—keeping up the charade. Walking around in heels all night was bound to leave any human bride's feet a little sore.

Sarah came to sit by me then, a hefty piece of wedding cake in hand. I tried not to turn my shoulders away as she shoveled bite after bite into her mouth.

"This is really good," she said through the mess in her mouth, "Whoever you chose to cater was really amazing."

"Thank you," I said politely, trying to focus on the dancers instead of the all too visceral reminder of my recent struggle in the upstairs bathroom.

My disgust suddenly became apparent to her. "Oh," she said, suddenly shamefaced, "I didn't know—I thought… I mean, I guess it makes sense that you guys would find human food… But I just…"

"It's fine, Sarah," I assured her, "Please enjoy."

Just then, I was assaulted by such a menagerie of disgust, despair and rage—always rage—I nearly bent at the waist.

"What?" Sarah asked, her hot hand permeating the illusionary lace that blanketed my shoulder. "What is it?"

" _What do you_ _ **mean**_ _—have a real honeymoon?"_ Julie gasped, replaying Beau's most recent words in her mind.

 _I'm not putting anything off… And I don't know why it would be any of your business, but whether we have a real honeymoon or not isn't really up to you…_

" _While you're still_ _ **human**_ _?"_ she went on, her voice tight and strident as she struggled to keep herself together, _"Are you kidding? That's a sick joke, Beau!"_

I was already standing, striding around the outer edge of the dance floor—struggling to keep a normal pace. Sarah's questioning had been brief, and she followed me without another word now—placing her assumptions in the correct place.

" _This isn't any of your business,"_ Beau was saying, his tone sharp with defensiveness, _"I shouldn't have said anything—we shouldn't even be talking about this… It's none of your—"_ His words cut off with a sharp intake of breath—with which I knew was pain.

I quickened my pace as my sisters processed the expression on my face, honing their hearing to focus on the quarrel taking place in the obscurities of the lawn. Subtly, they began to edge their way toward where they would easily and quickly be able to come to my aid if I requested it.

Across the clearing, I could see the spot I'd foolishly left Beau alone. His back was to me, but I could see Julie's irate expression—and my eyes focused in on where her long fingers were clamped down on Beau's upper arms, her knuckles going a jaundiced shade of yellow where she had them clenched so tightly.

"Jules, let go!" Beau's voice was harsh with pain, and if so many eyes hadn't been on me, I would have been at his side in an instant, tearing Julie's shoulders from their sockets in order to relinquish her hold.

Vivid, horror-filled images flashed, rapid-fire, through her head as she processed the implications behind his words. Self-loathing, fear and disinclination tore through me like a rabid animal in response to her worst-case scenarios, and despite the fact that this _was_ , in fact, none of her business, revulsion filled me.

As I strode across the small expanse of space between us, with Sarah at my side, I could already feel the air shimmering around Julie like a crimson, rage-filled force field. Her disgust and horror were steadily giving way to the incessant rage, and she was _still holding onto Beau_!

"You can't be that _stupid_!" Julie was shouting, and Beau's head whipped back and forth as she shook him violently, "Tell me you're joking!"

An incensed hiss escaped my lips as, behind me, Archie and Jessamine launched into an exhibitionist show of dance moves to distract the crowd. Knowing all eyes were steadily leaving my retreating back, I picked up the pace.

I _never_ should have invited her! I never should have allowed them to be alone! I should have known how this discourse would end, should have acknowledged it months ago!

"Jules—stop!" Beau protested, watching him tug uselessly against her monstrous hold.

 _Forget_ the arms. I was going to tear her head from her shoulders!

 _Let us handle this, Edythe._

The sudden interruption of Sam's clear, resonating voice had me seeing red. This was _not_ their territory, _not_ their jurisdiction, and they had no right preventing me from stepping in when Beau was at such severe risk! Julie Black was within seconds from phasing in a rage-filled explosion, and there was no doubt he'd be killed in such a blast.

I ignored Sam's authoritative order, knowing it may mean a fight, and continued forward nonetheless.

She and Quil stepped out of the shadows, flanking Julie as I approached her.

"Remove your hands this instant!" I snapped, and the only thing that kept me from making the order a physical imperative was the presence of the wolves, ready to defend their own if I made an offensive move.

Julie showed no sign of hearing me, and Samantha issued a threatening snarl from behind the conflict.

 _Stay back,_ she warned me.

"Jules—c'mon," Sarah jumped in, her voice low and soothing, "Just take a minute, step back, breathe. You're losing it."

Julie didn't move—paralyzed by the images, as if from a horror film, running through her mind. Blood—so much blood… And the image of Beau's eyes, fixed and staring, not enough time to close them as overcome with passion and strength as Julie assumed I would be.

"You'll hurt him. Let go."

 _No—_ _ **she'll**_ _hurt him… She'll kill him! Oh god, oh god… I'll kill her first! Can't let her hurt him!_

"Now," I barked.

I had my gaze fixed intently on her fingers, and the instant they loosened enough to release him, I swept Beau behind me, where he'd be safe. Then I whirled to face Julie again—who was unhinging at the seams, all logical thought vanishing in favor of the easier thought processes, the ones linked to the more powerful nature of the wolf.

Between us and her, the three other pack members worked together to urge her back toward the trees. I was appalled as Sam and Quil turned their backs on me, even in the midst of this conflict. If Julie succeeded in executing the plans in her mind, they would undoubtedly take her side—wouldn't they?

As I watched, Sarah wrapped her gangly arms around Julie, attempting to haul the taller, more muscular girl toward the deeper shadows of the forest. Alarm flowed through my mind like ice-water, seeing the young girl so close to Julie's unruliness.

"Let's get you out of here," Sarah was murmuring encouragingly, "C'mon."

But Julie didn't move—her body was immobilized by the rage, but by comparison her mind was a gushing torrent of murderous intention. Beau had his hands on me, one on the curve of my hip, the other looped around my arm. I didn't know whether he was attempting to restrain me, or merely gripping me for comfort.

"I'll kill you!" Julie gasped then, her voice a rage-choked whisper, "I'll do it, I swear—I'll kill you right now!" She was picturing it, every image simple and concise. First, she'd tear my head from my shoulders, then my arms and legs. Once she'd torn me into enough pieces to ensure I wouldn't be able to reassemble myself, she'd phase back so she could burn the pieces.

Sam growled authoritatively. _You will not attack without provocation._

Of course, Julie could not hear her thoughts in this form, but it wasn't difficult to assume what she was trying to say.

She was vibrating like a tuning fork—so overcome with her loathing that she'd lost all reason, all logical thought—except for the knowledge that if she phased with Sarah's arms around her, she'd kill the younger girl. Only her loyalty to her sister and the rest of her pack held her together in these overwrought moments.

I saw how quickly her awareness was slipping away, saw the ghost of fur on her shoulders and arms, could see the shape of the wolf like an apparition in the air around her. I didn't know how much longer she'd be able to last in this infuriated state without changing.

"Move aside, Sarah," I whispered, frantic for the girl, my friend's, safety.

Sarah threw all her weight into shoving a rabid Julie back a few more feet. "You don't wanna do this, Jules," she grunted as she heaved, "Let's go—c'mon."

Sam pressed her enormous head into Julie's chest and shoved, aware that the unsteady moment—already fraught with violence—was about to disintegrate.

Quil hesitated between us, a bodyguard of sorts. She didn't trust me enough to completely abandon her guard, and would watch out for her sisters until they were in full possession of their minds and bodies.

Sweat from Beau's clammy hands was soaking into my dress, and he was trembling behind me.

Sarah, Julie and Sam faded behind the cover of the trees.

It was silent for one very long moment, aside from the crashing of faun and flora underneath their retreating feet.

"I…" Beau began, tremulous breaths bursting over the back of my neck, "I… I'm sorry," he said to Quil.

"It's all right now, Beau," I told him soothingly, picking up the hand that was clamped around my hip to stroke it.

Quil gave me a sharp glance. _It is_ _ **not**_ _alright. If it weren't for Sam, I would have let her kill you—and I would have helped her, too._

I nodded once at her—I understood her threat as a simple statement of fact and no more. She was still young, completely devoted to her tribe and their safety. They were her family, and I would do the same for mine without a second thought—and then she turned for the trees.

"All right," I murmured to myself. The situation had been put to rest—it _was_ all right now, wasn't it? I turned to face Beau, and looked up into his pale face. "Let's get back."

"But Jules—" he started to protest.

"Sam has her under control. She won't be coming back." Their thoughts were distant and faint—steadily losing volume as the distance between us grew.

A frisson of pain seemed to quake across his features, and I saw immediately that he was about to take this severely erroneous burden on his shoulders, and his shoulders alone.

"Please don't worry." I reached up to touch his face, "You did nothing wrong, so don't try to blame any part of this on yourself." Dutifully, I cast my hearing out, prodding the atmosphere just beyond the trees. There was no indication anyone human had bore witness to the conflict in the shadows of the trees, but there were several minds who had clued in on our absence, and were wondering where we had gone. "We need to be getting back."

For a minute, Beau's eyes—wild and pained—passed back and forth between my face and the trees the pack had disappeared behind. A flicker of irate injustice flickered like acid in my throat. How _dare_ she put this grief and pain on him on this, his wedding day?

And then, much to my surprise, he took one deep breath and squared his shoulders. I recognized the mask of composure come over his face—and I was abruptly heartbroken over the fact that he may wear this mask for the rest of the evening. I didn't want him to have to pretend that everything was okay—I wanted it all simply to _be_ okay…

"All right," he said, and his eyes, steady and tranquil settled back on mine. "Let's go."

He linked his fingers with mine, and we walked together back toward the bustling, happy pool of light. When we reached the edge of the dance floor, I coaxed Beau into a smooth dance, easing us back into the throng subtly and casually—as if we'd never gone.

 _Everything okay?_ Jessamine asked, locking her eyes briefly on mine as I spun under Beau's arm. She and El were standing off to the side, their postures tense.

I nodded curtly at her.

 _What the hell happened?_ El wanted to know, but I ignored that.

Beau held me close as we swayed gently to the romantic music, and I could see that he was distracted. His dark brow was drawn, his lips a tight line of grim concentration.

I knew immediately that my assurances had done nothing to chase away his guilt and feelings of culpability. I stared into his face mournfully. Beau was too good, too selfless, to play any role in this misconduct. Inarguably, he was the most pure factor of all…

But had Julie been right to be so disgusted by our plans? Was I wrong to have agreed to this? It seemed my life with Beau was a constant balancing act on the pointed edge of a blade—swaying toward fear, and then swinging back toward desire. Were her conceptions so misplaced? Were the scenarios she'd pictured so far from reality?

Wasn't it those very same scenarios that had me pulling away anytime a kiss, a touch, or an embrace became too heated?

I had wanted this experience so very much, and it was obvious he did as well, but I was beginning to wonder if I had been wrong to agree to his requests… Had I been wrong to promise even to try?

I knew how difficult it was for me to pull back at any given moment… How much more difficult would it be to convince myself to stop when every one of my senses—sight, touch, taste, smell—was inundated by his very essence? Once I had experienced the silkiness of his bare skin on mine, touched him intimately, seen the full beauty of his exposed body… Would it even be _possible_ to exert a sliver of self-control?

What if, like Julie had assumed, I became so overwhelmed with my own desire that I failed to heed even one of Beau's protests, or sounds of pain, or…?

"Edythe?" His voice, low and concerned, startled me from my trance. I could feel his eyes searching my face.

I sighed, tilting my head forward to drop it against his chest. "Julie is right. What _am_ I thinking?"

"She's not." I felt his hands cup my cheeks and pull, trying to tilt my face up so he could see me, but I did not budge—as overcome with misery as I suddenly was. "She's way too stubborn not to see things from her own judgmental view. She doesn't understand."

"Maybe I _should_ let her kill me for even thinking this was possible…" I murmured morosely.

"Stop that," he commanded, and tugged harder. I had no choice but to heed his efforts. My tortured gaze locked on his, firm, steady, and unwavering. "The only thing that matters now is the two of us. You and me. No one else. Got it?"

"Yes." I could not deny him—the word of dissent would physically not release from my throat.

He pulled me to him, our dancing forgotten, and pressed his cheek to the top of my head. "Forget she even came," he advised, "Promise me you'll do that."

"I promise," I whispered.

"Thank you," he breathed, and leaned in to kiss me tenderly. "And for the record," he added, "I'm not scared." His eyes blazed with a fierce power and conviction, and for a moment, I could not speak for the shock.

"I am," I finally admitted, my voice barely audible.

He ran the backs of his fingers across my cheek affectionately. "Don't be." And then he smiled a smile so beatific, I felt my black mood begin to lift. "By the way, I love you."

I managed a small smile in return. "That's why we're here."

"Okay, okay," Eleanor cut in then, loud and unflinching, "My turn to dance with my little brother… Could be my last chance to make his face go all red." She snickered devilishly.

 _The fam-jam wants to talk to you,_ she added as Beau released me.

I left the two of them to their dancing, laughing a little as I heard Eleanor's raucous whooping rise up behind me.

I reiterated what had happened earlier with Julie to my parents and siblings, and then shared a brief word with Sam, who'd returned to thank me for lifting the treaty so Sarah could attend the wedding, and to tell me that they wouldn't cross it again without permission.

"How's Julie?" I inquired softly, where we were hidden in the deep shadows. In the distance, I watched Beau dance with Carine now.

 _She's very upset. Her overreaction tonight will not be overlooked, and though your family is not to blame, you are the source beneath her unrest… I came here to thank you, but also to warn you: If any of you harms a human, we will have no choice but to act. After all, Carine made an oath…_

I felt myself stiffen under her intense gaze, and could think of nothing to say, so I merely nodded once.

She appraised me a moment longer, and then turned, her jet-black figure melting into the night.

I returned to the edge of the dance floor, reiterating the messages from Sam to my family before being swept into another whirling dance with another partner. This time, it was Tanvir.

He led me through a would-be complicated number of intricate dance moves, aware we were being watched, his smug expression a permanent fixture.

"I wanted to congratulate you again, Edythe," he said as we settled into a more demure dance.

"Thank you. I appreciate that, Tanvir."

"I must say—I'm surprised someone finally captured your heart. Almost a century of solitude…" _And what captures her eye—but an absolutely ordinary human boy?_

I could think of nothing genial to say, so merely smiled at him.

"He's… Certainly something…" We watched for a moment as, across the floor, he shared a dance with Jessamine.

"He is," I confirmed, my voice just a little more glacial than I would have liked. Though Tanvir's physical voice was remaining gracious, the words had an ever-present double meaning in his mind. "I can't wait for you to get to know him. His courage, his kindness, his selflessness… Is something to behold. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect husband."

It was impossible for Tanvir not to be slightly stung by these words—but he hid his feelings of rejection quickly.

"Thank you for being here, Tanvir," I said as the song begun to fade, "As always, our family appreciates your support."

"And I do apologize again for our… Disinclination in these previous months… It is our utmost priority to make it up to you."

"Thank you."

He bowed deeply as the final notes of the song drifted away on the summer air, and I responded to his gesture with a curtsy.

Then I returned to Beau's side, easing myself into his lovely arms once more. Everything about him was more relaxed now, and it seemed he'd found it within himself to leave the confrontation with Julie firmly where it belonged—in the past. When he smiled at me, the smile was genuine, not a hint of his formerly donned mask in place.

"I could get used to this," he said as we swayed gently beneath the canopy of ribbon and flora. The beginning signs of fatigue were evident in his slowed steps.

"Don't tell me you've gotten over your aversion to dancing?" I teased, pressing my ear to his sternum so I could hear and feel his heart thump. The warmth from his skin radiated against my cheek with every pulse, and soon, I could feel my body warming to his temperature.

He laughed softly. "Dancing's not so bad—with you. But I was actually thinking more about this"—and his arms tightened around me—"of never having to let you go."

The insinuation of those words infused me with such elation, such joy, that I could think of nothing else. Though Beau's change was closer than ever—mere weeks away—I had steadily found myself becoming more and more at peace with his decision. This was what he wanted: forever with me. And who was I to argue?

"Never," I promised, and stretched up on my toes so I could kiss him.

As always, his warm and tender lips against mine did something strange to the discourses in my mind—derailing all logical thought completely. The hazy, languid heat captured us in its cocoon, lifting us away from this dance floor, away from this party, and suddenly it was only us in this world—nothing and no one else existed.

I eased my arm around his neck, raking my fingers gently through his hair, keeping the other hand pressed firmly against his racing heart.

Our lips moved against each other's at a languid pace. So often, our kisses were rushed and filled with desperation, but tonight, equipped with the knowledge that we had literally forever to get our fill of each other, our osculations were unhurried and tranquil.

Despite that easiness, there was an underlying flame to the kiss—a smoldering, slow burn… A promise of more to come.

For so long, eternity had meant little more than purgatory to me… Now, with the knowledge that Beau would spend the rest of forever at my side, forever had taken on an entirely new meaning, something to look forward to instead of having to endure. Everything had taken on new meaning—school and hobbies and skill-building was no longer seen as something with which simply to pass the time, but a whole new aspect of discovery, a freshness and altered perspective, having Beau to journey through it with. The things we would learn, experience and discover together… The vastness of it was immeasurable, incomprehensible…

This awareness fueled my kiss, and I poured all of my love, devotion and excitement into it.

Eventually, Archie's pointed thoughts broke through my awareness. He showed me the gathering of onlookers we'd garnered, but I honestly didn't care at this moment in time.

 _Are you really going to let my big send-off go to waste?_ he sulked when I ignored him. "C'mon, you guys!" he said out loud, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "It's time!"

I struggled to recapture that odd, but blissful, note of transcendence from before—but my brother's unremitting harassment made achieving such a thing more difficult than I had expected.

"Do you want to miss your flight? I'm sure you'll have a fantastic honeymoon camped out in the airport," he insisted, right beside us now.

Beau clutched me closer, his heart sprinting, every one of his gasping, succulent breaths filling my mouth and throat—flooding my body with a vibrant energy that demanded to be answered. Nothing was going to move me from this spot.

Even parting my lips from Beau's for the second it took to murmur, 'Go away, Archie' was too much, and I returned my mouth to his with renewed eagerness.

A puff of incensed air exited my brother's nostrils, and he lowered his voice. "I'll tell him where you're going, Edythe—I swear I will."

The commitment to taking whatever measures needed was so clear in his mind, that I knew in an instant he would dare to do this. Archie and his braggart plans…

I pulled my face away from Beau's and turned to glare at him. "You are in grave danger of losing your title as my favorite brother."

"I didn't orchestrate the perfect sendoff for nothing," he snapped back, taking my elbow. "You need to get inside to change," he ordered, and shoved me toward where Jess and El were waiting. However, Beau did not relinquish his hold on me immediately, and leaned down for one more kiss before releasing his grip on my waist.

Archie left me with my sisters, and then strode forward to haul Beau away, directing Royal to bring the car around on the same breath.

I let me sisters pull me inside, feeling the strangest sense of weightlessness, as if I were floating along on nothing but air.

"You look like a deer in the headlights," El snickered as we headed up to my room so they could help me out of my dress.

"Oh, leave her alone," Jess chided.

"Hey, Edy," she continued, deplorable and unstoppable, "What do you call a virgin on a water bed?"

I sighed, already seeing the punch line in her mind.

"A cherry float!" She burst into loud laughter as Jess set to work undoing the pearl buttons lining my backbone.

"Okay, okay," she said as I slid out of my shoes, and she took them to the closet. "I've got another one… Where does Extra Virgin Olive Oil come from?" She paused for barely a fraction of a second. "Really ugly olives!" she shrieked, collapsing once more into laughter.

" _Please_ ," I groaned, "Stop." But I could see that my entreating would not derail the Eleanor-train of virgin jokes.

"What does a balloon and a virgin have in common?" she inquired next, as I slipped into my going away dress. "One prick and they're done!"

That one earned an exasperated huff from Jessamine, who'd set to work on unpinning the accessories from my hair.

Eleanor kept up a long stream of unending quips as we headed back down the stairs, but I wasn't really listening by that point. In a little alcove off the stairs on the second level, Beau and his mother were talking quietly.

Renee was clinging to her son, tears coursing down her cheeks at a steady rate, and I found myself distracted by their melancholy goodbye.

"You have to visit me and Phil very, very soon," Renee was saying, her voice choked with emotion, "It's your turn to go south—see the sun for once… And to see me again before all my time is taken up with your little sibling," she said, and her hand fell on the widening, convex shape of her midsection. The baby's thumping, train-like heartbeat reached my ears now, and I felt myself smiling gently. At least once Beau was gone, Renee would still have a child to love and raise up…

"It didn't rain today," Beau hinted.

"A miracle," she sniffed, wiping her cheeks as Beau released her. "Oh, look at me—such a mess. These pregnancy hormones, I swear…"

They were headed toward the stairs now, and my sisters and I pulled back into the shadows to let them pass.

"I love you, Mom," Beau murmured as they began to descend, "You and Phil take care of each other—and my little brother or sister."

"I love you too, Beau, honey," Renee sniffled, "We will."

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Beau wrapped his arm around his mother's shoulders one more time, pulling her close. "'Bye, Mom. Love you." His voice was thick with emotion.

Phil was there to escort her away, and Beau turned back to the staircase again, awaiting my presence.

At a quick human's pace—Archie's thoughts were a perturbing mess of impatience as our sendoff fireworks prepared to be launched—I descended the stairs to where my new husband waited for me.

His tuxedo had been exchanged for a pair of well-fitting chinos and a powder-blue button shirt rolled to the elbows. The color made his eyes shine as he gazed up at me, his eyes tense with the gravity of his mother's farewells, and the coming goodbyes to his father.

He took my hand as my feet touched the landing, and then his gaze swept the crowds.

"Dad?" he said, his voice strained.

"This way." I tugged on his hand, pulling him toward the complicated twists and knots that were Charlie Swan's thoughts. I was grateful when the crowd pulled easily aside to allow our passage.

Even Archie, pressed for time as he was on the fireworks extravaganza, did not voice his impatience—knowing this was an important and very serious moment for Beau and his father.

Charlie stood a little ways back from the crowd, against the wall. His mind was surprisingly heavy with the strength of his grief.

"Dad," Beau said, slapping his father on the shoulder when he saw his red-rimmed eyes. He hadn't been expecting such a reaction, I didn't think—but I could see that Beau, too, was struggling to keep his composure.

Charlie reached up to clap Beau on the other shoulder, and then pulled him in for a back-beating embrace.

"Don't wanna miss your plane," he grumbled gruffly after a minute, seeing the unshed tears in Beau's eyes, and grappling for a hold on his own emotion.

Beau and I both knew this would possibly be the very last time Charlie saw his son 'alive', and I gave them the moments they needed. They'd formed such an immense bond over the years Beau had lived here; it had been something Charlie had never expected to ever have with his son. So many years had been spent watching him grow from afar. Charlie was very grateful to have been able to spend the last couple of years living with his son, getting to know him, and seeing the man he'd grown into.

Though he didn't show the immense depth of his emotion, he acknowledged it now as he took him in, his new bride at his side—and realized just how quickly these opportunities to raise him had slipped through his fingers. Despite that, Charlie could see that Beau had grown up well, had become a man he was proud to call his one and only child, his son.

I found myself caught off guard by the clarity of his thoughts tonight, usually so difficult to read.

"Love you, Dad," Beau said now, squeezing his father tighter once, "Nothing'll change that—ever."

"You too, Beau." Charlie did not speak of his emotions easily—but it was impossible to overlook the simple truth in his quietly, coarsely spoken words.

Beau pulled back then, and a part of Charlie's mind protested at that. He'd lost so much time to the co-parenting-inflicted separation. He regretted not trying harder to see his son more often, for putting his work in such high esteem. His mind raced with the gravity of hindsight—regretful, wishing there could have been more time for the two of them, to fish, to talk, to bond.

But now, he knew, his time was up. And as firmly as he knew this, there was still hope of more time for him—Christmases and weekend visits… He didn't know he'd never have any of that.

I felt my own eyes burning with my own heartbreak, for the both of them. Though Charlie didn't know any of this, Beau _did_ , and I could see that this was very difficult for him.

"Go on, then," Charlie was saying, "Don't want the two of you to be late."

I stepped forward as he turned to look at me, overwhelmed with my own sadness and guilt, to embrace the man who had given me so much. So much trust, undeserved, and the miracle that was the son he'd helped to raise.

For the first time in a very long time, a flicker of self-loathing ignited in my belly. I was taking so much away from him… From all of them… Renee had her new husband, and the promise of new life to look forward to, but Charlie lived alone… He'd lived in solitude for so long, and I knew that the human mind was resilient, that he would find his way back into that familiarity, but how long would it take—and how deeply would the scars etch in his heart? I remembered the time that Archie had told me his only son was all he had—that losing him would destroy him; and the evidence I'd seen of that after the car crash in the parking lot that late winter day.

"Thank you," I whispered into his shoulder, and he shivered when my cool breath permeated the layers of his suit.

"'Course, honey," he said, patting my back, "You take care of each other—y'hear?"

"We will," I promised, pulling back to smile at him.

Outside the door, the beginnings of Archie's showcase began to fill the air with a series of pops, sizzles, and whistles.

"Are you ready?" I asked, gazing up into the beautiful visage of Beau's face, as we turned for the door. Was he so resolved to leave his parents? If he changed his mind, it wouldn't be a necessary thing… He could continue to see them, to gather for holidays and family celebrations… Was he ready to fake his own death, to commit how many years of working to form a firm resilience—to pass by the years of his young adulthood (despite his immortality) to miss out on college, on adventure, on travel and opportunity…? Was he ready to become stone and unmovable, to have his body preserved forever at eighteen—never to father children, never to change or age?

"I am," Beau responded now, his voice unwavering despite the show of emotion on his face. With those two simple words, he'd answered so many different questions at once.

For a moment, I forgot the self-loathing from before, and I stretched up on my toes in the doorway, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his. Above us, behind us, around us, firecrackers and rockets exploded in the night sky. I poured every ounce of gratefulness I could into that kiss—thanking him for the promise of all eternity: that he would be mine, and I, his, for the remainder of forever.

.

 **A/N:** Thanks to for the virgin gags… Hehe, I'm such a sucker for stupid humor!

I omitted the rice shower for fireworks for Beau and Edythe's send-off. I feel like the rice was purely a foreshadowing aspect in Breaking Dawn (If you guys didn't know, wedding guests shower the happy couple in rice to wish the couple good luck, fertility and abundance in their new life together…) So I left it out, as we all know Beau and Edythe are unable to reproduce—but they can sure have fun trying ;) hey, hey! Who's ready for the next chapter?! Eeee!


	4. Earnest Isle

**A/N:** Surprise and happy Monday! This one came early for you! I've had many of you begging me for more, and I've had this waiting—so get ready!

WARNING:The chapter ahead is rated NC-17 and is not appropriate for younger audiences! The adult content is strong with this one, folks!

"Adore You" by Miley Cyrus was pretty much on repeat while I wrote this chapter. I don't know why, because I honestly NEVER listen to her songs, but it just seemed so very fitting for this chapter.

This was one of the first chapters I pre-wrote after I finished Darkest Hour. It's been revised and edited several times, and I hope I got it right finally! I'm nervous but excited to share it with you, as this is a side of my writing you haven't seen before… Eep!

I won't keep you guys waiting any longer… Here it is!

 **.**

Gradually, out of the gloom and dark, a teardrop shaped tropical island seemed to rise up from the sea, vast and domineering. According to all maps, the small island didn't exist—a part of a bathymetric gathering of underwater volcanic mountains—but we Cullens knew better.

The isle was ringed with the sandy, fine powder of white beaches; its mountains overflowed with the greenery and bright colors of tropical foliage. Earnest had described with perfect imagery the copious marine life and bird species inhabiting the island and surrounding ocean. He'd pictured for me what the beaches would look like in the daytime, shimmering sand stretching into the flawless, azure clearness of the bathwater ocean, the sun brilliant, white and unobstructed overhead.

I waited until I was sure Beau's jet-lagged, travel-wearied, human eyes would be able to perceive the jutting drift of land ahead. We'd been traveling for around sixteen hours now, and though he'd slept on both flights, he had to be exhausted.

"Beau," I finally called over the crash of the waves, "Look there." I pointed in the direction of the island, and he peered into the inky night. "Do you see?"

Beau blinked and squinted, leaning forward in his seat to better concentrate on the vista in the far-off distance. It took him painstaking moments to comprehend the island that remained many yards away, but when he did, his confusion melted away to an expression of awe. Joy suffused, unmistakably, across his face.

"Is that… an island?"

I shifted course, steering us north around the mound of land, toward the dock.

I grinned widely, pleasure and excitement bursting forth inside me at the sight of his awe and excitement. "Earnest Isle, in fact," I explained, "A private island just for our enjoyment."

I let off the throttle and cut the engine, allowing the natural tide of the waves to crest us closer to the island. The silence was sudden and profound as we drifted slowly toward land.

"Wait—" Beau said, his voice thick in the sudden envelope of stillness, " _Earnest_ Isle?"

"A wedding anniversary gift—from Carine. They offered to let us borrow it."

Surprise flickered across his face, and then a frown. I wondered what that meant. I concentrated on securing the boat to its moorings, and then stood in the tiny, wobbling boat and turned toward Beau.

He was already on his feet, swaying here and there as the after-effects of our passage slapped against the sides of the boat. He reached for the suitcases, and as he pulled them into his arms, he stumbled.

I caught his elbow with one hand, and both handles of the suitcases with the other.

"I can—" he said, reaching for them, but I was already setting the trunks on the dock. I nodded toward the anchorage, and boosted him by the elbow from the boat. Before he could turn back toward me, I'd leaped from the boat and picked up the suitcases again.

"The house is this way." I gestured down the path. "I'll take these to the door."

I left him alone for just an instant, flitting through the cover of trees and to the house ahead. Two humans' scents lingered on the sandy path, less than twelve hours old. I memorized them, surmising they must be the wait-staff—Genoveva, the woman my parents had told me of, and her unnamed male accomplice.

The single-story bungalow stood brightly lit, lamplight spilling from the two wide windows on either side of the front door. The front porch was shallow, but hidden well in shade—true to Cullen style. I left the suitcases by the door, and then turned to wait for Beau, who I could hear coming up the path. By the time he came into view through the thick, jungle-like growth, his heart was hammering in his ribcage. The walk hadn't been long or steep enough to incite such a physical reaction, and I thought it wasn't just exertion that had his heart flying—for when his eyes touched my face, his heart gave a stuttering leap.

Suddenly, I wasn't so calm and cool as I thought I'd been minutes ago. With no residing thoughts to distract me, Beau's heart and breathing took center stage. The shyness rose in deep plumes around me, tinting the air with its blush-pink aura.

I was distracted, momentarily, by the tumultuous tenor of my thoughts—shyness, anxiety, fear, anticipation, longing—and was abruptly surprised when Beau reached for me, sweeping me up off my feet.

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

He paused. "Archie told me this was… Necessary. A tradition?" I realized then, as he pushed the double doors open to swing wide, what was happening. Beau locked eyes with me as he stepped over the threshold, into the brightly lit front room.

Like the residence in Forks, Earnest Isle's bungalow was furnished with light, clean colors—pine wooden floors, and plush creamy carpet, variations of white and beige painting the walls and upholstering the furniture.

Silently, all except for his raging heartbeat, Beau carried me through the sufficiently lit house—past the gleaming, updated kitchen and eating nook, past a small office-slash-library, down a short hallway. He paused at the very end of the corridor, in the doorway to our bridal suite.

He could not see the room clearly—the one room of the house whose light was not lit—but I could. The large room was dominated by a king sized bed clothed entirely in white, and draped in gauzy mosquito netting. Its presence, front stage in the center of the room, was intimidating, distracting, and my hand groped along the wall, fumbling for the light switch.

When I flicked it on, Beau set me down.

For a moment, our eyes skirted each others', taking in the room. The back wall was mostly dominated by glass panes, French doors leading out onto the beach that was almost immediate. Palm fronds swayed in the sultry wind, the glistening waves just feet from the house.

I was startled by the sudden knotting of my stomach, the heat that flooded over every inch of my skin. My longing was sudden and immediate as I took in his face, the loose, casually unbuttoned opening of his shirt at the neck. I could see his pulse hammering there, underneath the soft, smooth skin of his throat.

When his eyes locked on mine, returning from their trip about the room, the desire flared.

Startled by its intensity, I fled, so I could re-gather my composure.

"I'll… Retrieve the luggage."

I was gone before he could take a breath to respond. I hurried back down the hallway and to the front door, where I'd left the suitcases outside. I hesitated in the doorway, and then sat myself on the front step, kicking my heels off and burying my bare feet in the warm, soft sand.

I took a deep breath, and attempted to compose myself.

This was what he wanted… And I'd promised him that I would fulfill my side of the bargain. Even now, my husband was waiting in our bridal suite. I could hear his heart race from here, and his soft footsteps as he moved around the back room…

 _You must control yourself,_ I reminded my baser instincts. It was one thing to see the arrangement through, but I had not expected the strength of my own desires. The desire to feel his hands on my own skin, his lush lips on my throat and shoulders…

But tonight was about him. Just him. He'd done his waiting, he'd _married_ me—he'd given me everything I'd asked of him. Now it was my turn to give myself to him, an offering on this, our honeymoon night.

I would give him what he wanted—this last human experience he feared losing in the newness of vampirism. But my needs could wait—they _would_.

Feeling recomposed and unwavering, I stood, abandoning my blush-pink heels by the door, but taking the suitcases with me. I returned quickly to the master suite, setting our suitcases on the floor by the bureau. Beau did not register my presence.

It felt as if my heart could throb as I hesitated by the door, taking him in. His tall form was turned away from me as he stared down at the bed, his long fingers half-way reaching for the gossamer netting that encircled the foreboding cot. I could imagine how bright his blue eyes would burn, the concentration in them… His shoulders looked tight—with anticipation, or trepidation? I didn't know.

As I watched, a single drop of perspiration dewed on the back of his neck, and I stepped to his side, reaching up to swipe it away with a single finger. In the dim glow of the suffuse light, my wedding band sparkled.

"Sorry," I said, my apologetic voice barely audible, "It's hot in here, I know. I thought… It would make things easier." I remembered the thick quilt I'd always kept between our bodies at night. Had I made a mistake? Had I been too thorough? The back of his neck and ears were efferent with pink flush. But was that due to the heat, or was it emotion that was pushing his blood to the surface of his skin?

"Uh…" he said and his voice broke, "Good idea."

A small, nervous giggle escaped my lips, unbidden. The suspense was, for lack of a better word, killing me.

Beau swallowed thickly. I watched his Adam's apple bob with a wave of desire. The atmosphere was stretched so tight, if plucked, it would sing. I struggled for some way to break the tension.

Outside, the gentle crest of waves over sand regained my attention. Sudden inspiration struck me.

I took a breath. "How does a midnight swim sound… first…? The water will be very warm. This is the kind of beach I think you'd approve of."

"Sure." His voice cracked, whether that was due to nervousness or something else.

"Would you like a moment of privacy?" I offered, "The trip was very long." I was sure he would appreciate a few moments to clean himself up, to compose his nerves, which must have been as frayed as my own.

"Sure," he said again, the word just a silent breath.

I couldn't resist winding around to the front of his body, leaning in to press myself against his chest. I tipped my head back and stretched up on tiptoe, brushing my lips very softly underneath the edge of his jaw.

"I'll wait for you in the water." I paused, unsure if I would be able to reach the awkward angle of the clasp on the back of my dress. "Do me a favor?" I requested before I could lose my nerve. I turned away from him, scooping aside the tendrils of damp hair that had escaped my chignon. "Unzip me?"

Beau's heart stuttered once more, and if mine could have reacted, it would have been in my throat. I felt his hands on my waist, and then very softly, his fingertips ascended to fumble the clasp loose. His warm fingers trembled in the juncture of exposed skin the undone clasp had exposed.

I waited, holding my breath, as he took the zipper between two fingers and unzipped me halfway.

His breath washed in warm waves over the pale skin of my bare back, and I shivered, though I suddenly felt very warm. That smoldering sensation had returned—and with a vengeance this time.

Quickly, I made my escape before the overwhelming sultry air of the bedroom could overwhelm me.

The waves were exactly six feet from the door. I heard the zip of Beau's suitcase, and then the en suite bathroom door clicked shut. I pulled the short fit-and-flare, cream colored dress down, sliding my arms from the subtle bell-shaped elbow-length sleeves, hooking it on a nearby, short palm. It took but a moment to free the pins from my hair.

Then I dove into the tepid water, finding immediate respite and relaxation in its gentle warmth, its easy weightlessness. As I kicked and strode toward the bottom of the sandy ocean floor, no creatures of the water approached me. Their instincts had them fleeing into hiding as soon as they'd heard my approach.

Exhaling all the air from my lungs, I sunk easily to the bottom of the ocean, coming to rest on my back so I could stare at the scenery above me. The moonlight created intricate, lacy patterns on the surface of the water, its brightness illuminating the complexity of the marine biology around me in stark, black and white shapes. Not far off was the coral reef, its craggy contours somehow gentle underneath the undulating water. The shifts of sand grain against sand grain, their feather light touch on my naked skin, felt like diamond dust. Above me, around me, the ocean expanded like ripples of blue silk.

Far off, the sound of several heartbeats, keeping time with one another's, alerted me to the presence of others. Intermittent splashes and strange whistling tunes filled my ears, floating to me slowly.

 _Dolphins?_ I wondered. Earnest hadn't told me about them. But then, maybe the family of marine mammals hadn't been here when last they had. I would love for Beau to see them, but they were faraway now, and swimming further.

I pushed myself to the surface, brushing my water-darkened hair away from my face and down my back. I lingered waist-deep in the water, hands on its subtly undulating surface, and stared up at the moon, contemplative.

It was so utterly silent out here—it had been so long since I'd been totally alone with my thoughts, and I was glad for the stillness now. I would need it to focus tonight.

Automatically, I found myself counting the throbs of Beau's heartbeat, which I could hear again. The mayhem inside me increased when I remembered that those pulses were numbered. Soon, very soon, his time would be up.

I reminded myself that this was _his_ choice—this was what he wanted, and I, selfishly, wanted it too. Very much, the selfish, monstrous part of me yearned for forever with my husband.

 _Mrs. Swan…_ I contemplated. To keep up pretenses, we would both most likely go by the Cullen name—it was easier—but for now, I reveled in my new name. Perhaps, if things were different, we could live a few years as husband and wife, apart from the others… Alas, they were not.

Several times, Beau's heart picked up pace and then slowed again… Time, and then more time, excruciating minutes of it, stretched between. Was he scared? Did he regret what we were about to do? Or was he merely nervous?

After another aching thirty seconds, I heard the door open, and the shift of heavy fabric against bare skin. The muscles deep in my belly clenched at the sound of soft footsteps approaching. I did not turn to watch his advent.

The fabric that had clung to his skin crumpled audibly into the sand, and a slow flash of heat flooded the surface of my skin when I heard him shift into the water, and wade toward me, knowing he was nude. I did not turn; I did not even breathe.

His arms came around me from behind, pulling me against his warm, soft chest. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his breath fragrant and sweet and minty—very minty.

"You look like a mermaid," he whispered.

"' _A mermaid found a swimming lad, picked him for her own. Pressed her body to his body, laughed; and plunging down, forgot in cruel happiness, that even lovers drown_.'" I recited the poem quietly, staring at the full sphere of the silver moon.

Its warmth, gentler than the sun, was no match for the smolder of Beau's skin.

"Well, that's depressing," he muttered against my skin. His lips, velveteen soft, brushed against my bare shoulder, lighting a spark that quickly caught, and spread.

"William Yeats wrote it."

He didn't answer, his lips forging a blazing trail as he pushed my sodden hair aside so he could kiss my throat. The feel of his bare chest on my back, the intoxicating swirl of warm water around us, the heat of his lips on my skin, was the worst and best kind of distraction. His scent eddied in the air around us, the dampness of his hair and skin strengthening his intoxicating fragrance.

I turned in his arms, pressing my cheek to the bare place over his thudding heart. I tried very hard to ignore the shocking heat between our flushed torsos. I tried not to pay attention to the way his softness gave way to my granite curves.

"I promised we would _try_ ," I murmured very softly against the smooth skin of his shoulder. The moon was very bright, and it bleached his complexion as pale as my own. "If… If I do something wrong, if I hurt you… You must tell me—straight away."

Beau's hands came up, drifting across my shoulders and under the edges of my jaw, tilting my face up so I peered into his face. His eyes looked metallic, silver blue in the purple light of midnight. He sighed, very softly, pressing his forehead to my own.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, "We only go as far as you want to… And this… Us… It's right. We're right, if we're together."

I closed my eyes, inhaling his breath, lifting my arms to loop them around his neck. As his skin shifted against mine, the desire rippled like an earthquake, an explosion, over my body. Thick, syrupy desire pushed its way through my veins when every inch of him pressed against me.

For being made of stone, I suddenly felt very pliant.

"Forever," I agreed, and I pulled him down to bring his mouth to mine.

His lips, so familiar, shaped themselves around mine—warm, and soft, and succulent.

His hands on the naked expanse of my back, pressed me solidly and firmly to his chest, his shoulders bowing over me so that his heat made a cocoon around us. Every part of us—flush. Chests, legs, faces.

All at once, I felt as if I were floating somewhere in the stars above us, detached—and yet, simultaneously, as if I were sinking in the wet, clay-like sand underneath our feet.

If my heart were beating, it would have been pounding.

I felt warm in a strange, giddy new way, and desire, warm honey, coated every nerve ending.

I could _feel_ him, his excitement, pressed against my belly. And it was harder than I had expected, warmer than the rest of his body.

I had expected to feel… Fearful? Shameful? Embarrassed? About this part of things… But in this instant, I felt nothing except desire… And desir _able_. To know I could affect him in such a way… It pleased me.

Beau's lips became more insistent against mine, his sweet tongue lashing out to brush against my bottom lip.

The gasp escaped me involuntary.

I pulled away and buried my face in his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. He held me tightly, securely, as I struggled to catch my breath—all at once terrified, overwhelmed, and filled completely and totally with longing. Its strength was unprecedented. It left me feeling weak, in a delicious, unfamiliar way.

The waves lapped against our bare skin, rocking him to and fro.

"Do you want to go inside?" Beau whispered, and his voice was husky and quiet in the absolute stillness around us.

I nodded against his chest.

He turned us toward land, and we waded from the water together, leaving our clothing behind—I would retrieve it in the morning. The sand gathered on the soles of our feet and in between our toes as we walked hand-in-hand together back toward the gaping doors of the bridal suite.

When Beau kept walking as if to stride right past the bed, his hand tugging mine, I paused, confused.

For once, his face was not flushed, and when he gazed down at me, his eyes were… Earth-shattering. So, _so_ blue and wide, and filled to the brim with need.

"I thought we should rinse the saltwater and sand off," he murmured.

Unable to speak, I only nodded, afraid my voice would break.

He led me into the large en suite bathroom, and over to the glass-paneled, walk-in shower.

I allowed my eyes to roam the sinew and muscle of his back as he leaned forward to turn on the water. He was more beautiful than I'd ever known. A sculptor could use him as a model, and still, its rendering would not suffice. His beauty was unreachable, incomparable. The set of his shoulders, the wide span of his chest, the slender narrowing of his waist, the flatness of his belly, and the dark, soft hair that encircled his navel and trailed in a slim line, down, between the defined v-shaped creases between his hips…

I swallowed hard as I drank in every glorious inch of him, bathed in the soft bathroom lights. Long and sturdy legs, shapely arms, artistic hands with long, slim fingers, almost made to play the guitar or piano.

When my eyes lifted to his face once more, I found he'd been drinking me in as well.

In this moment, I did not feel the need to cover myself, to turn away or snatch a towel. I felt the oddest swell of confidence, as I watched his eyes travel over my body.

He was right—there was nothing to be afraid of, no reason to hesitate.

For just half a second, his eyes lifted to my face, lingering on my lips, and then my eyes.

I could not make sense of the expression on his face. The utter devotion, love and awe I saw in his gaze made my knees weak.

I launched myself at him, weaving my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing my mouth greedily, hungrily, to his. When his lips parted against mine this time, I did not recede. Instead, I allowed him access. When his tongue, honey-sweet, swept against mine, it sent an electric shockwave through my body.

Beau turned us, stepping me backward into the glass chamber of the shower. The water was warm, hot even, against my suddenly sensitive skin. Steam lifted in clouds around us, reacting with the coolness of my body. I inhaled vapor and mint and pine and _Beau._

He pressed me very softly against the tiles of the shower, caging me in with his arms and his body, his soft, saccharine mouth devouring mine.

If only I had known I could consume him in this way… If only I had known the ecstasy of his mouth, his body, his love, were more potent than any one drop of his blood…

But, of course, I had not known. However, I reveled in it now, breathing, drinking, pulling him in; I was sure I'd never get my fill. I gulped in every note of his essence with greedy, panting breaths.

When Beau pulled his lips away from mine, a whimper escaped my lips. And then those lips were on my throat, hot and moist, and I gasped, clenching my fists reflexively.

 _Relax,_ I shouted to myself in my head, and forced my fingers to uncurl, to press my palms flat against the tile wall behind me. _Easy… Soft… Lenient…_

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus through the overwhelming fog of my brain as his lips trailed across my skin… Trailed _fire_ , from the hollow of my throat, to the tip of my shoulder, and back, along my collarbone.

Our breathing came faster, rocketing into high gear.

My entire body was singing. It was the only way I could describe the intensely unique, sensual sensations coursing through my body like an electrified circuit.

His hands were curled around my hips, his shoulders bowed in the most indescribably sexy way, and his lips moved lower, still.

 _Stop him_ , a very tiny part of my mind commanded, _This is about him tonight. You promised!_

But the argument was very quickly lost when I felt his tongue lash out, lapping against the smooth, milky skin between my breasts.

"Beau," I tried to whisper, but the call of his name escaped without sound. His hands eased around my back, one of them stretching flat across the base of my spine, pulling my hips flush with his.

This time, a sound _did_ escape me.

His breath, his perfume, his hands, his lips… They were everywhere, all I could focus on, and my body betrayed me, arching into his hands, the cradle of his shoulders. I didn't _want_ him to stop.

 _Carefully, carefully,_ my subconscious screamed as one of my hands came up to cup the back of his hot, damp neck. His nose and lips drifted higher, over the swell of my breast, and the electricity crackled again, searing me.

He hesitated, putting a quarter of an inch of space between us, and my body rebelled, rolling against him.

And then his lips were there, on the very center of my breast, and the contact was a jolt of lightening. The sensation was a straight shot from my breast to my groin, settling low and heavy and sweet and aching.

This time, the sound that escaped me was louder.

 _Watch your hands!_ I shrieked at myself, very, very aware of their pressure on the back of his neck and his shoulder as I clutched him to me.

At first, it was just his lips, grazing back and forth across my nipple. Eventually, his other hand came up to brush the other breast, to cup it in his palm, and pass his thumb back and forth over its pink crest.

When his tongue lashed out, languid and soft and not the least bit tentative, my answering moan echoed off the tile walls.

The sensations he was creating in my body were indescribable.

I felt weightless, trembling, feeling the need to steady myself on his shoulders as his hands moved, exploring the hard, flat plane of my stomach with his fingertips. He brushed them back and forth between my hipbones, in small circles around my navel.

My breathing came faster now as the burning, aching sensation between my legs intensified.

His fingers brushed lower, down the heated, damp flesh of my abdomen, and then lower still. He brushed, very softly, against the sensitive flesh between my legs, and my knees nearly buckled.

I gasped, and automatically, my hand went to his wrist, stilling his ministrations. I could not explain the hesitancy that had risen up in me like a tidal wave. I could not explain the sudden terror that forced clarity in response to the disjointed abstract of my mind elicited by his touch.

He reached up to brush the soaked strands of hair out of my face, his eyes never wavering from mine. In them, I could see his understanding, and his patience. He seemed to realize this was difficult for me, and that I needed to take things slow.

We stood for an unremembered number of minutes until, wordlessly, he reached up to turn the tap off.

We had procrastinated for long enough. Beau's jaw was tense, his eyes strained, and between us, his member seemed to throb, its heat pulsing into the air between us.

He carried me to the bed, and then stretched out beside on me on the soft, satin white sheets.

We kissed again, less insistently, but just as passionately.

On their own accords, our hands explored the planes, edges and curves of each others' bodies, fire and ice, melding as one. I worked just the tips of my fingers, so sensitive, across the top of his shoulder, down across his shoulder blade, feeling the muscles in his back, and then his chest, and lower still.

I kept my eyes firmly on his now as my hands wandered south. His touch against my hips, my breasts, was less firm now, distracted, as my hands stroked his stomach. The muscles there clenched and trembled underneath my touch.

It was a heady, heedless sensation that coursed through me when my hand brushed against his erect member.

Hot air hissed from between his teeth, and I froze.

"I'm sorry," I breathed, "Did I…?"

He shook his head, tilting forward until his brow pressed against mine. "No," he said, his voice throaty and quiet, "You didn't hurt me." A strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, fell from his lips.

I wanted to move my hands, but I was afraid of my own strength, worried that I might press or squeeze too hard.

"Beau," I murmured, "I need you to look at me. I need to see your eyes."

He pulled back a couple of inches, eyelids flickering, lashes brushing against my cheekbone. His eyes, liquid steel, settled on mine. Beau's lips were slightly parted, accommodating his gasping breaths.

My hand moved between us, fingers gently curling around the incredible heat of his shaft. How could he be so hard, and so soft, all at the same time?

Barely touching, I stroked from base to tip, stunned by the reactions that were taking place inside my own body as I touched him. How could this bring us both so much pleasure?

I repeated the ministration, and a low sound broke from the back of Beau's throat. His head tilted forward, landing on my shoulder, his fingers clutching at my hip in a rhythmic sort of way.

I brought the curled, loose fist of my hand down, and then up once more. Then I froze in surprise, when I felt his hand curl around my own against him. His palm and fingers were warm, but not as warm as the part of his body we now held together.

He lifted his head, his lips fumbling for mine. His breaths trembled against my mouth, and his fingers tightened around mine, squeezing.

"I…" I started to resist as he tightened the pressure of my hand on him.

"It's okay," he whispered, "Let me show you."

Reluctantly, slowly, I followed the guide his hand made against mine, narrowing my grip on him incrementally, until his hand stopped squeezing. Now, my grip was much firmer than it had been before, and it surprised me.

"Are you sure—"

A shaky, quiet laugh spilled across my throat. "Oh, I'm sure," he murmured, and then I let his hand drag mine up the entire length of him, and then back down again. I allowed him to set the rate at which I pumped my hand, conscious, always, of the pressure of my hold. I did not shift it even a bit, and when his hand released mine, I automatically paused, feeling bereft.

"Keep going," he whispered, and so I did. I replicated the pace and clutch he'd set previously for me, keeping my eyes fixed carefully on his face, watching for the first sign of discomfort or pain.

His skin was softer than down against mine, his entire abdomen vibrating with the strength of his thrashing heart. I watched, rapt with fascination, as its pulses elicited tremors over the surface of his perfect skin. Each throb of his heart echoed against my palm where I held him.

The expressions on his face changed, his jaw muscles spasming, his lush lips parting as his breathing became heavier and harsher. His hips began to tense, arching off the mattress and into my hand—at first, their rhythm was irregular and scarce, but quickly garnered a pattern.

I found my own breathing become heavier, affected by his excitement, and the tingling in my body felt beyond electrical. The flesh between my legs felt impossibly warm and damp, effectively throbbing with need.

I had not expected his pleasure to be so closely linked with mine. As I worked him into a higher degree of intensity, my own cravings became harder and harder to resist. I had to battle back the urge to devour his mouth with mine, to pull him into the cradle of my hips and satisfy the ache between my own legs…

I became worried for his health when his breathing reached near hyperventilation, hips and shoulders arcing, head tilting back to expose the thin skin of his throat. His carotid artery pulsed at a frenzied rate there.

As I listened, his blood pressure and pulse far exceeded normal rates, and a frisson of terror coursed through me, until I remembered the research I had done.

It was very normal for human blood pressure and heart rate to rise briefly during sex, to a higher degree in men than women. Heart attack and stroke were very rare occurrences in the studies that had been done.

And then, just as I was sure he was at the brink, he stopped me, his hand gripping mine. Again, I froze. Had I increased my pressure in a fit of inattention?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" I blurted, pulling my hand away from his body as gently, but as quickly, as I could.

Beau, showing no signs of distress or pain, captured my mouth with his, silencing my apologies. His hands, bands of bliss, encircled the slimmest part of my waist, pulling me to him tightly. Against the edge of my mouth, he whispered, "Still fine."

I felt my body sag with relief, and then quickly tense when his right hand settled over my breast again. His lips and tongue worked their way to a particular spot behind my ear, and when he suctioned his lips there, I effectively melted. Again, a very uncharacteristic sound escaped me.

I struggled to focus, willing my hands to lift to his shoulders, so I could push him back and look into his face, to speak. But they would not release from where they were tangled in the sheets as his mouth began to work the same magic they'd conjured in the shower.

Every nerve in my body felt stretched tight, like live wires, exposed and charged. Unerringly, I arched into his hands, his lips, his mouth. I realized that my entire body was trembling, assuming positions I wasn't completely in control of.

Beau lay in between my legs now, his supple, soft body pressed tightly against my own. He balanced himself on his arms above me, examining my face intently. Color filled his cheeks now, and his expression was modest, shy.

I lay beneath my husband, staring up at him. Somehow, I had thought we could avoid _this_ part of things until he'd been changed. I'd convinced myself that giving him his own pleasure would be enough—I'd had no way of knowing just how much gratification he would feel from touching _me_.

Now, the inevitability of where this conjecture had taken us was obvious.

 _I can do this,_ I soothed myself, even as venom pooled in my mouth. His scent whirled in thick clouds around us, spice and musk and succulence, all combining to create the most perfect of aromas. _Just stay still. Just don't move. Soft. Lenient. Pliant._

One of Beau's hands came up to stroke my face. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," I mouthed, wide eyed and filled to the brim with terrifying anticipation.

This was it… The moment we'd been building up to.

He hesitated just once, but I could see the strain it took to resist. I'd taken him so close to the brink of ecstasy, and now I lay here, delaying it.

I reached up to circle my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to mine. I kissed him softly, sweetly; I was full of appreciation for his gentlemanliness, the way he seemed to be waiting for permission. He pulled back very slightly, so close we shared the same breaths, and his eyes fixed on mine.

I drew one knee up, hooking it over his hip. Against my inner thigh, the flesh of his waist and hip was velvet-soft.

The only sound in the room was his breathing, and his thrumming heart. I held my breath, the muscles in my belly coiled tight with self-restraint. I could do this. After all, he would be doing all the work.

But I should have known better…

When he positioned his self against my entrance, hot and hard and firm, my lips parted on their own accord, releasing the sudden caged breaths that exited my throat.

He pushed, just barely invading my entrance, and the sensation was wholly incomparable. He was gentle and slow with his advance. His progress came in stops and starts, small retreats when he felt resistance, and confident forward momentum until he met the next layer of opposing, tight flesh. It was as if the invasion of his warmth, his softness, created the same warmth and pliancy inside of my own body, relaxing my tight muscles and instilling elasticity in my formerly unyielding body. I understood what my sisters had been saying, now.

By the time he'd penetrated me entirely, he was breathing heavily, his panting breaths harsh bursts across my chest and face, and his arms seemed to tremble.

The warmth of his presence inside me was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Though I was the one who anatomically surrounded him, I felt bathed in his heat and essence. I felt surrounded by it, as if I could drown in it.

The sensations, both pleasurable and agonizing in their intensity, engulfed me, and I closed my eyes as he began to move—pulling back, and then pushing forth, again and again.

His thrusts were slow, measured, and I felt when the gentle heat, like a sunrise, or a slow boil, began to build inside of me. I hadn't been expecting this—that intercourse would bring me so much pleasure. In fact, I had been counting on it _not_ being so. All the articles I'd read had stated it was very rare for a woman to derive pleasure from penetration alone—especially during her first sexual experience.

But it was an undeniable, tight little creature that began to twist deep in the pit of my stomach. It coiled and turned on itself, faster and faster, gathering heat and friction and momentum as Beau's velvet shaft stroked my inside walls, flooding me with warmth and tingling, aching responsiveness.

The sensation gathered impetus quickly, and though the feelings were explicitly sensual and delightful, they scared me. I lifted my other knee, looping my leg around his waist and shifted, hoping it would alleviate some of the pressure so that I could focus through the steadily thickening fog inside my brain.

But as I did so, Beau brushed a part of me I'd never had any prior awareness of, and a muted cry of pleasure exited my throat. I brought my hands to his sides, some attempt to steady myself, hoping my hands on him would bring me down from this sudden, great height.

But the warmth of his skin only intensified the sensations, and I whimpered, only halfway steady, only halfway in control. I wanted to voice my concerns, but I couldn't find my voice.

"It's okay," he whispered, and the sound of his voice, hoarse with passion, only spurred the pleasure on. "We're okay."

He drew back to lock his eyes with mine. The cerulean depths of his irises were wild with seductive passion, and a very quiet moan fell from my lips when my gaze locked on his.

One of his hands eased underneath my back, at the juncture where my spine met my pelvis, and pressed, drawing my hips up against his.

His name escaped my throat in an unrestrained gasp, and I clutched him closer in an unconscious motion. I was bewildered by the sensation this created, intensifying the delicious pressure of his strokes from the inside.

"I know," he panted, "I feel it, too."

I squeezed my eyes shut as the pressure of the flat expanse of his hand relaxed, and then pressed again, letting my hips fall, and then lifting them to repeat the same action.

Again, the sensation blistered me through with heat, like a spear of lightening, settling to infuriate the maniacal creature in my belly. Its movements became tighter, faster, a whirling circle of blinding heat and warmth and pleasure.

"Oh," I gasped again, one hand moving from his shoulder to his ribs, "Beau."

His hand released my pelvis, returning to its bracing position over my shoulder. My other hand dropped to his other side, and unable to resist, I began to meet his thrusts with small lifts of my own hips. Each time we met, united at the hilt, the sensation burst in waves across my soul.

The heat built to a baffling degree, and I held on to his shoulders, his hips, his sides, desperation taking over. I pulled him closer, pulling on his hips each time he retreated, only wanting him buried back inside me. I struggled to tame this wild, violent instinct—alarmed at where it might lead.

One of his arms collapsed, and he braced himself on his elbow, face in my neck as he continued to move, his pace frantic now. His breathing was harsh and eager. Something was changing, inside—impossibly, he was lengthening further, stroking an even more sensitive part of me than I had been feeling up until now.

And in that instant, the earth around me shattered. If I was falling from heaven, it didn't feel that way. This blinding heat, this deafening repose, it consumed me completely, blistering me through with an ecstasy so potent I lost all sense of time, presence or awareness. The creature deep in my stomach unfurled, burning me with a new kind of blaze.

Vaguely, beyond my cries of ecstasy, I felt Beau's own undoing, triggered by my own.

He collapsed against me, shaking. He trembled beneath the weight of his explosion of pleasure, and I felt his lips search for mine.

Our mouths melded, lips parted, and my teeth tingled with anticipation, longing…

Distressed, I struggled to lock down the mechanic responses of my system—but as adrift as I was in the trembling undulation of my muscles, core and being, I could not quite contain myself.

In my veins, the venom burned, and my jaw ached with an intensity I couldn't ignore. My lips, my jaws, parted on their own accord, and my eyes focused in on the pulsing, erratic rhythm of the human's carotid artery just an inch from my mouth.

An elusive, very small part of my mind reminded me that this was my _husband_ , and in the midst of our marital consummation, I'd lost control.

The simple, quiet utterances of pleasure erupted from Beau's throat. His eyes were tightly squeezed together, and I leaned up, mouth open, razor-sharp teeth ready.

At the height of his orgasm, and entirely unaware of my struggle, his blood pounded double-time through his veins, and my face ducked underneath the up-turned edge of his jaw.

"Edythe," he gasped, in the midst of his pleasure.

And then I saw what was about to happen, what would assuredly unfold. Just in the nick of time, the sound of his voice brought me back.

With a possessiveness that was not my own, I wrenched myself away from the blinding temptation and turned my head to pull the half of the pillow that was underneath me to fold over my nose and mouth, locking my airways down.

My teeth locked and tensed fitfully, and I clutched Beau's sagging body to my own as my body trembled beneath the weight of pleasure, relief, joy, victory… I couldn't find solace in any single concept.

Awareness gradually returned, and where I laid beneath my spent and exhausted husband, I began to breathe again.

Bliss—undeniable and complete—filled every hollow of my body. Beau's face was buried in my neck, his breath hot and slow and even, and I ran my fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. His arms, his legs, were completely slack.

Once, he shifted, moving to rest his cheek against the swell of my bosom, arm tightening around my waist, and I glimpsed his peaceful face.

I felt sudden bliss and victory as I processed the prolific beauty of his features, satisfied and joyful.

I'd done it! He'd trusted me to share this most coveted experience with him, and his faith in the both of us had saved him, _us._ Even in the face of the cravings and temptations more powerful than any other element I'd ever faced, our union had been successful.

I permitted myself a small smile. Eleanor and Jessamine had been _wrong_ in their own remembered accounts. There was nothing stronger than the physical union between man and wife—not even the call of blood.

Our lovemaking was beyond rapture, beyond ecstasy, beyond the sweetest taste of ambrosia.

Beau inhaled deeply through his nose, and lifted his head. His peaceful, tranquil eyes fell on mine, and a smile lit up his entire face. He leaned forward to bestow a kiss upon my lips, his lips lingering, and then he buried his face in the pillow by my head. Or, at least, the pillowcase. He hadn't seemed to have noticed that the bed had erupted in a fluff of down feathers. They littered the mattress, the surface of his flawless skin, they tangled in our hair.

It was clear, after a moment, that he'd fallen asleep, his breathing low and even, his erratic, hammering heart finally settling into a mellower pace. I shifted, just slightly, out from underneath him, so I could examine his face, soft and gorgeous in serene sleep.

I smiled gently. _Ah… My sweet, sweet Beau._

I lifted my hand to pluck a feather from his face, its shadow marring the flawlessness of his complexion. But when I let the feather drop to the floor beside the bed, the shadow did not recede.

I shifted back just a hair more, wondering if it was me who was making the shadow, or possibly a frond from a tree outside. The breeze rustled its leaves, and the leaves swayed in the briny ocean breeze. But the shadow on his face did not move.

Icy dread snaked through my stomach.

Bruises—ghastly, purple bruises—were beginning to take shape over the surface of his flesh. Bruises that _I_ had inflicted. They'd been _my_ doing.

I felt as though I were in a trance as I took inventory of the damage I'd inflicted on his poor, unsuspecting, trusting body.

Hands—hands that looked like human hands, small and pale and slim fingered, with oval shaped, pearl-pink nails; but hands that might as well have been monstrous claws—shaped themselves to the finger-tip shaped welts forming on his biceps, his shoulders, his ribs, his buttocks. A bruise the color of the blackest storm cloud was taking shape on the edge of his jaw… Had I done this in the moments preceding his near-cessation of life?

My stomach clenched and twisted with such violence, that I was sure I would have been sick if I'd been able to. My head spun with the barrage of guilt, shame, horror, and despair.

I had _not_ , in fact, succeeded in our endeavor. Beau had _not_ come out of it unscathed, and I wondered—with a sudden start—if I had done even more damage on his body than the bruises.

The concentration of the black and blue wounds on his ribs were so horrible—had I cracked one? Had I fractured his pelvis in my animalistic, disgusting craving to have him closer—to fulfill my own sick needs?

A tortured sob caught in my throat.

What had I been _thinking_ —entertaining the possibility of succeeding in this venture? I'd been fooling myself to think I was more girl than monster, fooling myself into thinking I could somehow ignore the icy, vital strength of my body compared to his warm, soft delicateness.

I was a _fool_!

.

 **A/N:** From such great heights, to such awfully low depths… Our poor Edythe.

So obviously, from here on out, things are going to change quite a bit regarding how the rest of the honeymoon goes, because they won't have the intense pregnancy symptoms to deal with (the intensity of Bella's exhaustion, her dreams, her appetite, etc). Obviously, there'll still be some of that due to Edythe's efforts to distract Beau, but it won't be the main focus or anything.

So stick with me—and get excited for this new journey our couple gets to explore! Thanks for sticking with me this long. This was, I think, the final of chapters everyone was looking forward to—but don't be discouraged! There are more exciting things to come!

See you all next time! xo


	5. Preoccupations

**A/N:** Hey, everyone! I'm working on maybe creating a website or something so I can upload pdf versions of my fics there, but in order to do so… I need your help! I need artists to draw/edit/photoshop some fanart for me, so I can actually make the site a hospitable place, haha! So if you're willing to help me out, shoot me a PM, and we'll work out the details!

I'm so excited. My good friend and devoted reader Reems suggested this, and I thought it was a brilliant idea. I'll figure out the mechanics of it somehow. I don't know if I even need a whole website to upload the PDF's. I'm still doing my research. But I'd love to see your fanart regardless! There's so little of Beau/Edythe fanart.

Another thing I noticed is that we're only on Chapter Five, and I already have more followers of this story than I had on Damask Heart, so that's exciting! Thanks so much, everybody!

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Beau slept for a long time, and while he slept, I anguished.

The early afternoon sunlight did not help matters. Every part of his formerly perfect skin was marred with the sign of the monster. Black and blue bruises _everywhere_.

I had known that this had been a mistake.

Then and there, I decided it. There would be no more mistakes. I had given him his part of the compromise, and now we would wait. Wait until he was no longer frail and breakable…

I noticed when he woke, his face buried in my hair, his heartbreakingly injured arm slung across my bare waist.

In the serene quiet—which was so entirely paradox to my internal agony—he snickered quietly.

"What's funny?" I whispered. What _was_ funny, in this moment? What could _possibly_ be funny again?

His intestines grappled for air, growling. He laughed again. "You just can't escape being human for very long."

I didn't answer. No, he couldn't, could he? Beau was, as ever, horrendously, delicately, human. Why had I agreed to this? Why had I ever, _ever_ thought that I could succeed at something like this?

He propped himself up to look at my face then, but I fixed my eyes on the mosquito netting above us. I couldn't look at him. I would not survive the hurt, the betrayal, the possible anger, in his eyes.

"Edythe." His voice cracked, "What's wrong?"

I could not bring myself to answer that.

When I looked at his face, his eyes were a swirl of confusion and apprehension. He _should_ be apprehensive. I was a _demon_ for having done this to him. But there was more there, emotions and thoughts I couldn't put a name to, and the old curiosity tortured me.

I lifted a hand, exerting just as much pressure as a puff of air would have, and brushed an errant lock of hair off his forehead.

"What are you thinking?" I implored.

"You… You're upset… I don't get it. Was it… Did I do something… Wrong?"

Of _course_ he would attempt to make this about his own faults. Had I expected anything less? I sighed. "Tell me how badly you're hurt, Beau. Be honest with me, please."

"Hurt?" His voice broke again, shooting through an octave or two in surprise. "I'm not hurt… I feel… Pretty damn near perfect, actually."

"Stop. Please," I could barely whisper. The agony tore through me anew.

"Stop _what_?"

"Stop acting like I am not a despicably, disgustingly selfish demon for having agreed to this."

"What?" A note of disbelieving laughter exited his throat. "You're not a _demon_ , Edythe… What are you even talking about?"

Could he not _feel_ the ramifications of what I'd done? Was he in shock? "Look at yourself, Beau. Then tell me I'm not a demon."

When I heard his breath catch, I winced like the sound had been a physical blow. He was silent for a very long moment, and I listened to his breaths slow and even.

"Why am I covered in feathers?"

I sighed impatiently. "I may have torn a pillow or two apart. That's not what I meant to bring to your attention."

"You… tore up the pillows? _Why_? Did we have a pillow fight in my sleep or something?"

"Look, Beau!" I snapped, finished with the charade, finished with putting off the inevitable. I propped myself up on one elbow now and took his hand, very, very gently. I stretched his arm out. "Look at _that_."

He did.

"Oh," he breathed, _finally_ understanding. I had expected to feel some sort of relief when he caught on, but more anguish blew through me, shattering my insides like a grenade.

"I'm… so, _so_ sorry, Beau," I whispered brokenly. "I knew better than this. I should not have—" I cut off, dry tears stopping up my throat. "I will never be able to convey to you just how regretful I am for the way I've wounded you." I rolled, burying my face in the pillow that had been underneath my head. Then I became totally motionless. I could not look at him anymore, I could not stand the confusion on his face.

A moment later, he laid a hand on my back, but I didn't move. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear, but I didn't respond then, either.

"Edythe?" he murmured.

I didn't answer.

" _Edythe_."

I knew what was coming. He would try to brush it off, act like he wasn't injured, like nothing had happened.

" _I'm_ not sorry, Edythe—for once." He laughed. "Please... Don't beat yourself up over this; I'm totally f—"

"Do _not_ say the word fine. I will literally and figuratively snap if you tell me that you're fine."

"But I _am_."

I groaned in anguished frustration.

"Edythe, c'mon. We… We knew this was going to be… Tough," he tried to soothe me, "And _this_ is nothing. I think for our first time, both of us not knowing what to expect, I think we did pretty good. With a little extra practice—"

 _Practice?_ Was he seriously suggesting that we were going to try this again?! Was he _insane_? My anger was barely contained, and my head snapped up in furious reaction. I could feel the fire in my eyes as I appraised his lovely face.

"Were you _waiting_ for something like this to happen, Beau? Were you predicting that I would hurt you? Were you thinking it would be worse? Do you consider the trial a victory because there are no lasting consequences? No broken bones or internal hemorrhaging—that equals triumph?"

He only stared at me for a long moment, and then he seemed to pick his next words carefully: "Well, one thing's for sure. I didn't expect it to be so…" He trailed off. "I mean, I don't know how it was for you—I know we're… Different—but it was pretty amazing for me…"

Abruptly, I ached. That was what all his anxiety and upset was about? Something so severely misplaced, but I could see that I'd damaged him with my anger, so I reached out to lay a hand over his—as light as a feather.

"Is that what you're worried about?" I made my voice softer without effort now, the guilt helping. "That I didn't enjoy myself?"

"I know it's probably not the same for you," he murmured.

Was it possible that he had felt a fraction of what I'd experienced last night? Did he really think I'd been entirely un-eclipsed by an experience so entirely life-changing? "Beau," I murmured, "Last night was the best night of my existence—without question."

One corner of his lips pulled up into a shy smile. "It was?"

How could he not _know?_ I had to make this right, make him understand.

I sat up a little more, taking the sheet with me.

"Carine trusted me with this; she told me it was a very powerful thing, incomparable really. She told me physical love was something I should not treat lightly. With our rarely changing dispositions, strong emotions can alter us in perpetual ways. But she said I didn't need to worry about that part—you had already altered me so completely." I smiled, understanding now what she'd meant by that. "I spoke to my sisters, as well. They too told me it was a very great pleasure. Second only to the taste of human blood… But I've tasted your blood, and there could be no blood more potent than _that_ … Not that I think they were wrong… Just that it was different for you and me… Something more…"

"It _was_ ," he breathed, lifting a hand to hold it alongside my face. "So much more." His voice was husky, and it brought on a deluge of memories from the night before…. The words he'd spoken, the assurances and guidance he'd whispered… And then, more, the silent communication of our bodies, his ragged breathing, his flying heart…

And then I nearly crushed the life out of him.

I saw the moment he leaned in to press his mouth to mine, and I stiffened, leaning back hardly an inch, my palm flat against his bare chest to restrain him. I could _not_ risk more than I already had. It was a godsend he hadn't been more injured.

"What?"

I knew what his reply would be, but I asked the question anyway. I began reciting different breakfast recipes in my head, trying to force out the desire and the yearning for his warm, supple body—to have it pressed against mine again.

"How about breakfast?"

"What?" His stomach growled impatiently.

"You're hungry," I said, jumping at the opportunity, grateful to have an excuse to get up and leave before my body's cravings could get away from me. Before he could protest, I rose from the bed, swathed my body in a bathrobe, and headed off, in search of eggs and bacon.

I made my way down the narrow, wood-paneled hall toward the kitchen, dislodging little down feathers from my hair as I went. I was lucky our hair lost much of its affinity for tangling through the transformative powers of the change. Once reborn, the outer-cuticle on our tresses lost the ability to become damaged or dehydrated, resulting in the unnatural smoothness and tamed demeanor of our tresses. It was one of the few blessings of becoming a vampire.

In the en suite bathroom, the shower turned on, and I paused, forcing down the sudden desire to join him. The memories crossed my mind like a deluge of rain, every one of them seen, felt and heard with perfect clarity and flawless hindsight. I closed my eyes for one moment, pressing my fingers to the sides of my temples as warm, sugary desire flooded my body.

 _He'll get hurt,_ I reminded myself, _You've done enough damage._

With that sobering thought, I was able to force my legs to carry me forward again, into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave informed me that it was just after two in the afternoon, and though lunch might have been more appropriate, I figured Beau would be more in the mood for breakfast food.

I pulled the ingredients I would need from the refrigerator, and began to prepare a bacon and cheese omelet, something I'd practiced many times at home, and hoped would show its efforts here today.

While the eggs cooked, I compiled a list of conceivable distractions in my mind. I knew, if I were to keep my vow, that it would be necessary to keep both Beau and myself as busy as possible. But without being familiar with the island, I wasn't sure which opportunities presented themselves, exactly.

I thought it might be fun to try and locate the dolphins I'd heard last night. It might take some time, and it was already mid-afternoon, which meant there was just that little of the day left. If I exhausted him thoroughly enough, I hoped he would go directly to sleep tonight without much trouble.

I sighed, shaking my head to myself, abruptly disgusted. Here I was, barely a day into my honeymoon, and I'd already screwed things up so royally that I was having to generate a list of activities that would keep us away from the bedroom.

In the other room, the shower turned off, and I sprinkled the bacon and cheese over the eggs, folding it all in half.

I'd managed to toast some bread and squeeze some fresh orange juice into a tall glass by the time Beau had dressed. He stepped into the kitchen just as I was sliding the omelet onto a plate. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he wore a pair of light-colored Bermuda shorts, and a stark white t-shirt. The bruises on his arms and jaw were most visible, and the sight of them twisted an icy dagger in my stomach.

 _I_ had done that to him. I was nothing more than a vicious monster, straining to read the part of an innocent human girl…

I felt the enraged agony bloom across my features, and knew he'd seen my expression when he hesitated at the other end of the room. When I saw his response to my show of emotion, I forced a mask of composure. He did not deserve to feel pain for me after the damage I'd caused him. There was no place for his benevolence and pity in a time such as this. If he would not reprimand me or convey his well-placed, albeit absent, fury, then I would do my best to put last night behind us. I would do whatever I could to make him happy and safe now—no matter the expenditure it cost me.

Now, a soft smile flickered across his face, and he inhaled deeply through his nose.

"That smells amazing. Thanks for cooking," he said as I slid the plate across the kitchen island to him.

"You must be starving," I surmised as he slid onto a barstool.

Without a moment's hesitation, he began to shovel hot forkfuls of egg into his mouth.

I frowned. "I'm not feeding you often enough." Yet another thing I was failing at… Would I ever get this right?

He swallowed what was in his mouth and shook his head. "I was sleeping."

 _That's no excuse,_ I thought as I watched him devour the remainder of his breakfast.

"I can make you more," I offered as he reached the halfway point of his meal without slowing. I'd made a four-egg omelet, never thinking he'd eat it all, but he'd nearly finished it. I was galled by my severe lack of hospitality. "There's plenty of food. I had the cleaning crew stock the kitchen; a first for this place. I'll have to have them clean up the feathers…" The words faded in my throat. It had not been my intention to coax his attention in that direction, and I struggled to find a distraction.

But _I_ was suddenly preoccupied with the memories of last night's feather explosion, and the supreme pleasure that had overwhelmed me in its midst.

 _That's when you hurt him,_ I reminded myself.

I was startled from my reverie by the soft touch of his lips against my cheek. "Thank you," he murmured, and then kissed the edge of my mouth, one of his hands resting against my waist. "That was amazing."

The feel of his mouth on mine, moving with an unhurried kind of languid motion, intensified the ache in my stomach, and a swift current of electricity immediately swept over the surface of my skin, eliciting an inescapable tingling sensation.

On its own accord, my body began to melt underneath his affectionate ministrations. It was only as his fingers touched my collarbone, exposed by the gaping neckline of the bathrobe, that I remembered.

He felt me stiffen, and put an inch of space between us. I was surprised to see anger flash in his eyes, though he quickly attempted to hide it.

"You're not going to let me touch you again while we're here, are you?" he asked, frustration saturating every syllable. As always, the regard in which he held his own self-preservation was severely erroneous.

What could I say without offending him?

In this moment, I decided actions went farther than words, and pulled his hand away from my chest to cradle the side of my face. I sighed, and allowed my eyelids to shut at the pleasant warmth. I inclined my head just slightly into his touch, holding his hand there.

"That's not exactly what I meant," he said with a sigh, but the bitter emphasis of denunciation was absent from his tone now.

I exhaled in resigned defeat and opened my eyes to gaze into his lovely, crestfallen face. "I know," I admitted, "And you're right… I will not make love with you again until you've been changed. I will never hurt you again."

I immediately saw the skepticism in his eyes, a challenge of sorts. I knew, now that we'd experienced the pleasure that superseded all other pleasures, it would be more difficult to resist.

As if confirming this, Beau's eyes roamed my face, and then dipped down over my collarbones and the exposed cleavage between the folds of the soft robe I wore. Desire surfaced in his eyes, unmistakable and strong. My stomach muscles quivered, my lips tingled, almost aching in their potency, and my hands nearly drifted, on their own accord, to his firm biceps.

 _No,_ I reminded myself.

Busy. Tired. Dolphins.

I slid so quickly out of his embrace that his hands remained where they'd been, one at waist level, the other half-raised where he'd been caressing my cheek.

"Why don't you put your swimsuit on?" I suggested, picking up his empty plate and glass. Before he could insist on doing the dishes, I had the water running in the sink. "There's something I wanted to show you."

When I turned to look at him, he was regarding me suspiciously. I wondered if he was going to say something, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped in submission. The motion twisted my stomach with painful remorse.

"Thanks for breakfast," he said, his voice glum, "It was really good."

I did my best to smile at him—remembering my goal to leave last night behind us—as I scrubbed the egg off his plate. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He turned then, and walked slowly down the hall toward the bedroom.

I scrubbed the dishes diligently while he changed. When he returned a few moments later, he was in his swim shorts and bare-chested, a towel slung around his neck.

His face went a little pink, as well as his chest, and I realized I'd been staring at his naked torso just a beat too long. If I could have blushed, I would have gone crimson. Quickly, I averted my gaze.

Suddenly, the _last_ thing I wanted to do was go off to find the dolphins—which was exactly why I needed to force myself to do so, anyway.

I returned my eyes to him, pinning my gaze on the bruises painted across his ribs, and cresting over the waistband of his low-slung shorts—lingering there just a moment too long.

 _Too fragile!_ I screamed at myself.

"I'll just change," I said, "And then we can get going."

He nodded as I slipped past him and closed the bedroom door behind me.

Crossing to my suitcase, I cursed myself for having allowed my sisters to help pack for me. Inexplicably, they'd found a way to sneak in all manner of revealing apparel—and _somehow_ , do away with most of what _I'd_ contributed!

A quiet growl vibrated in my throat as I sifted through my swimsuit collection, unable to find one modest piece.

I finally settled on a one-shouldered two-piece the color of deep jade. The scalloped edges gave it a girly edge, and though my entire midriff would be exposed, it gave an aura of modesty. I pulled a sundress on over it, and then went to rejoin Beau in the front room.

We walked down to the beach hand-in-hand, the sun a brilliant white orb positioned halfway to its full ascent above our heads. My skin refracted its rays, sending bits of rainbow bouncing over the sand beneath our feet, and shattering across Beau's skin.

Earnest was right: the vista was an incredible panorama of varying shades of blue. The sparkling turquoise waters stretched as far as the eye could see, the azure stretch of the atmosphere blanketing this haven we'd found ourselves on.

Beau shaded his eyes, gazing out at the horizon as I did.

"What are we looking for?" he asked after a moment of silence.

The ocean lapped at our ankles, surprisingly warm—and I stared out over the water, listening intently. I employed every facet of extra sense that I had—not only improved sight and hearing, but smell, too. I could smell the brine of the ocean, the floral fragrance of the jungle stretching out behind us, the earthy pungency of the sand and little creatures living within it… But I could not detect what could possibly be the scent of a dolphin. I'd certainly never had the opportunity to familiarize myself with such an aroma, and so it made my mission even more difficult, as I didn't know exactly what I was searching _for_.

"Edythe?" Beau prodded, his fingers brushing against mine.

"Dolphins," I said softly, still searching.

"Dolphins?" he repeated with a note of incredulity.

I nodded once, deciding the chances I would be able to detect them on land were slim. After all, I'd only been made aware of their presence last night _after_ I'd gone under the water. I scooped my hair off my shoulders, securing it in a quickly woven braid so it wouldn't get in the way.

"I'll be back," I said as I shed my sundress and let it fall in the sand, out of reach of the surf.

Before Beau could acknowledge this—it was just too easy for me to be myself around him—I dove into the waves, acquainting myself again with the coral reef just off the ocean shelf, and the rippling, aerobatic shapes of marine life.

Sure enough, the sound of several steady heartbeats filtered into my ears, off in the distance. The tell-tale squeaks and chatters told me what I needed to know. They were here—but as I focused all of my attention on the aquatic animals, I recognized the quiet contemplations of inward scrutiny.

Regardless of how briefly we'd been away from the rest of the human population, I was surprised at just how strongly the awareness of thought took me off guard.

As similarly compared to human intellect as the sea mammals' minds were, it seemed obvious that I might be able to detect their deliberations; however, it had not been a possibility I'd considered. Though I could not discern clear words or thought patterns, there was definitely an edge to their mental atmosphere, an air of caution, even wariness. Suddenly, I understood.

I surfaced just a moment later, finding Beau waiting in the same exact spot I'd left him, ankle deep in the foamy surf.

"They're here," I reported as I waded back toward him, "But they don't want to come too close. They are… Cautious of my presence."

Beau was not quite subtle enough as his eyes swept up the length of my bikini-clad body, though he tried to hide it. When his eyes met mine, his face flushed with what I thought might be embarrassment.

If I'd had the ability to blush as well, I would have—for his human eyes were too weak to perceive the quick flicks toward his bare torso I couldn't quite resist making.

At that moment, he seemed to realize something. "Wait—did you say they're… Cautious? You can hear their thoughts?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that with any certainty, but yes—I suppose I can discern something like their thought processes, their instincts… They won't come anywhere near me, but if you were to wade out a bit into deeper water, I think they're curious enough that they might approach a less intimidating subject." I grinned at him.

He seemed to mull that over as he glanced past me, back out into the ocean. This time, there was something more on his face aside from curiosity. I watched with tender fascination as a whimsical sort of awe-struck expression lit his eyes from within. And then, as a splash and a chorus of chirrups sounded in the sea, his eyes widened with pure exhilaration.

"Whoa, look at that!" he shouted, pointing, "Did you see that?"

I watched the dolphins splash and play, showing off for the curious creatures they knew so little about, and grinned once more.

"I think they're boasting for you."

Beau laughed. "Think I could make one of them jump through a hoop?"

I giggled, trying to picture it. "Have you decided on a career course, then? Animal training—I wouldn't have expected it." Whatever he decided he wanted to do, I was pleased, knowing I'd be there right by his side as he discovered it.

I had heard about dolphins and their unusual openness and friendliness toward humans, but up until today, I hadn't really believed any of it. But as I watched Beau frolic and float with them for hours, I could not refute the allegory.

The sleek-bodied animals twisted and twirled in the air, slicing cleanly through the water time and time again for Beau. Several times, they bumped their noses against his extended hands, as if in greeting, or an affectionate sort of gesture.

Now that I knew the aura of their mental atmosphere, it was easy to detect their genial curiosity—they'd never frolicked with any creatures aside from their own species, and so this was as new and exciting for them as it was for Beau.

Eventually, fatigue began to slow his treads. I stood from where I'd been sitting in the sand, ready to go to him if he needed me. I watched as he cast one long glance toward the dolphins, and then began to swim toward shore.

"Enough for one day?" I asked as he approached.

"Won't be able to see in the dark," he said, smirking. The sun had begun its rapid dive into the ocean, flooding it with streaks of gold, fuchsia and tangerine. A strange quiver snaked its way through my stomach when I realized what time it must be, and ruminated on the eventuality of returning to the house.

"We can come back tomorrow," I offered as he stepped to my side. His body was slick with water, his hair glistening with crystal droplets, and he raked his fingers through it in an unexpectedly sexy way. His long eyelashes caught one of the beads of saltwater, and I automatically reached up to swipe it away.

But of its own accord, my hand refused to leave his face, heating under my palm with the very slight beginnings of sunburn.

"I never noticed," I murmured, "You have freckles in the sun."

I appraised them, just a scant dusting of apricot speckles across his nose and cheeks, curving up toward his ears. It was surprisingly, adorably, attractive.

I thought I'd memorized his every physical feature with perfect precision—to know I hadn't only brought on a sense of bittersweet nostalgia, a longing for more time, more opportunity to unearth more of his ever-changing, ever-surfacing splendors.

"Yeah," he said, self-conscious now, "Never liked them much."

"Why not?" I wondered as his fingers slid down my arm to take my hand. "They're…" I paused to grin. "Delicious."

He smiled at me, but something in the expression seemed skeptical.

In silent agreement, we began to make our way back toward the house, and as I'd done this morning, I began to tally a list of possible distractions with which to keep him busy. Food, games and conversation usually kept humans plied with entertainment for hours… It had to be much the same here, didn't it?

"You go on and shower," I encouraged him when we stepped into the kitchen. "I'll get started on dinner."

"I can cook," he began to protest, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"I don't mind cooking for you," I told him honestly, "It gives me an opportunity to put my learning into practice… You'll tell me if I fail miserably, won't you?"

He laughed at that. "Impossible," he murmured, and then leaned in to kiss my forehead. His lips, too, were warmer than usual. Had they been burnt by the sun, as well?

I would have to do a better job of getting sunscreen on him tomorrow… Not only had I bruised his flawless, creamy skin—but now I was putting it at open risk of blistering, too… I remembered the after-sun lotion I'd thought to pack, and made a mental note to apply some to his skin later.

I could see the suffuse color blooming across his shoulders and back, too, as he headed away from me, and chided myself again. I needed to be more aware—I'd made a promise to take care of him, and I was, insofar, doing a horrible job of it.

I set to work on preparing the lemon chicken and orzo dish I'd memorized before we left. Suddenly regretting not having a chance to trial the dish, I moved through the steps with meticulous care. Spices were the hardest part, because so many recipes so often directed, ' _salt and pepper, to taste_ ', and I just didn't have that ability at my disposal.

But I did the best I could, and I thought I succeeded when Beau complimented me profusely over the course of his meal.

"Let me do the dishes tonight," he requested when he was finished. But before his extended hand could pick up his plate, I snatched it out of his reach and had already crossed the kitchen toward the sink.

"No need," I assured him, "I've got it."

Outside, night had fallen over the island, the deepening, vivid colors casting an all-new scene. I could see Beau's face reflected in the glass pane of the window above the sink, and smiled amusedly at his sullen expression.

"You're on vacation," I told him, "Give the dishes a break."

"You are, too," he muttered as he stepped to my side, "At least let me dry. You haven't even showered yet."

"Beau, I'll have these done in an instant. Why don't you see if you can find a board game for us to play? There's a collection of cards and games on the shelf in the library."

Suspicion, clear as day, flickered across his features as he gazed down at me for an extra beat. I took advantage of his distraction and plucked the dishtowel out of his waiting hands.

"Go on," I encouraged when he hesitated, "I'll have these done, _and_ be in and out of the shower before you've chosen," I teased.

He exhaled, long and slow. I did not miss the hint of disappointment in the sigh. As he turned away from me without another word of protest, a stab of guilt lanced through me. I hated to disappoint him—and, if I was being honest, myself as well—but it was vital I keep my promise.

But the vows I'd made to myself in my fit of despair didn't seem to hold as much concreteness now, with evening upon us, and nothing to do. I knew daytime would, without contest, be easier. The number of distractions were innumerable, and much of the temptation was extinguished simply by being away from the house. But now, with the four walls around us, I knew my self-control would need to be at an all-time high.

However, now that I knew the nature of such pleasures, such delight, how could I resort to celibacy once more? Why should it have to be so difficult, not to imagine a whole host of _other_ possibilities— _other_ ways we could pass our evenings… And mornings, and afternoons…? Why shouldn't—?

 _The bruises,_ I reminded myself, _You hurt him—and who can tell how much more grievously you'll harm him next time?_

I realized, as Beau came back into the kitchen with a pile of games in his hands, that I was still washing the same dish I'd started out with. Abruptly, his presence startled me out of my reverie.

Now, as the desire burned in my veins, as so many other things _but_ board games took center stage in my mind, I forced myself to focus on his blackened jaw, and the fingerprints I'd all but superimposed into his biceps.

 _No_ , I promised myself, _It's not possible. Not safe. Not until he's changed._

I forced back the aching sensation in my stomach, and finished the dishes.

.

 **A/N:** Hi, again! I was able to take some liberty on this chapter, which was fun. Have you ever swam with dolphins? I did once, in Mexico when I was sixteen. It was one of the best experiences of my life. We saw a couple of them mating, too, which was… Awkward. LOL! But I learned that day that they're one of the only mammals who mate face to face, and I thought that was sort of romantic.

But I would find weird stuff like that romantic ;) Lol!

I'm looking forward to going more into depth on Beau and Edythe's honeymoon. Gotta take full advantage of your own private island, right? Also, like in Eclipse, Beau won't be as pushy as Bella was. He'll definitely try to respect Edythe's wishes and efforts—but there's only so much restraint the both of them have; which you'll see in the coming chapters :)


	6. Waver

**A/N:** Hi, lovelies! Welcome, new readers! Hope you're all doing well—I don't have much to say on this one. Again, I was able to have a lot more creative freedom—obviously that's going to be a running theme during this book, and I'm so excited!

Enjoy this one! :)

 **.**

We played card games late into the night. I hated to push Beau to the very brink of fatigue, but I knew bedtime would not come without some sort of pushback—and I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to resist his physical advances.

Each day was met with a new host of complications and temptations. The bruises seemed to yellow and fade from his skin in direct accordance with his growing desire—and each day, my own fortification weakened, cracks and fissures forming along the wall of my resistance, springing small leaks and gushes.

There had been things I had not been expecting—things I hadn't thought to consider… The way Beau's skin would soak up the sun, turning it a healthy, glowing golden color, or how his own exhilaration and joy elicited by our snorkeling expeditions or swimming escapades with the dolphins would stir my own feelings of inhibition. But to lay in his arms as he slept, night after night, was by far the worst.

My mind was only too capable of running away with me during the hours while he slumbered—and it seemed I didn't possess as much self-control as I thought I had. How much longer could I resist his gentle kisses, how much longer could I stand the rejection in his eyes when I pulled away from him? How much longer could I abnegate the aching sensations inside of my own body?

I tried to force myself not to think of these things—to regard it as some sort of formidable countdown to the end. But it was impossible to do so while lying next to Beau's sweet, warm body.

So night after night, after he'd fallen into a deeper unconsciousness, I stole away from the house and flung myself through the jungle foliage—to distract myself for one. The air on my face and arms and hands, and blasting through my hair, though humid and oppressive, was enough to distract me if only for a few moments, and to return my priorities to their rightful place.

The other purpose of my nightly runs was to tally an ever-growing list of preoccupations and tasks. If we could not enjoy our honeymoon the way most couples did, then I was resolved to fill our daylight hours with as much sun, fun and exertion as possible.

So over the next few days, there was no shortage of distraction—and though I knew for a fact that Beau saw through so many of my efforts, he took it all without complaint or protest. At least for the first few nights.

Days two and three of the honeymoon had been filled to the brim with jungle hikes, ocean swims, sand-castle building contests and more. We'd returned from an afternoon of exploring the tidal pools on the south end of the teardrop shaped island, and I'd prepared dinner for him as always. He seemed particularly exhausted this day, and I hoped he would go to sleep as unexpectedly easy as he had the last two nights. But I knew, from the looks he'd been giving me, the hints he'd been dropping, and the words he'd obviously held back from saying, that my luck was dangerously close to running out.

"Would you like to play a game of cards?" I tried to persuade him while we did the dishes after he'd eaten.

"Not tonight," he mumbled as he ran the soapy dishrag in circles over the already clean plate.

"Chess?"

"Nah."

"We could… Play a board game."

"I'm not really in the mood for games," he admitted, and I heard the strange poignancy in his voice—as if he were giving the words a separate meaning.

"Would you like to take a sunset walk along the beach?" I asked, taking the clean plate from his hand. I knew it was possible I was being too pushy, but I wasn't ready to face the bedroom yet.

"I'm actually pretty wiped," he said, and the exhaustion was clear in his voice, "I kinda just want to go to bed."

"Okay," I said, unable to hide the entirety of my disappointment. The last two nights had been far more difficult than I could have imagined, and I was trying to put off the inevitable struggle between two forces for as long as possible.

One side of me was terrified that I would hurt him again—disgusted by the purple marks I'd left on his skin, horrified by my inattention and selfishness.

But the other part of my mind desperately wanted to try again, resolved to be more careful next time—saw reason in Beau's assumption that practice was simply all we needed to get things right… Day after day I watched the waters of the ocean undulate and recede—at times crashing and foamy, and at others, clear, tepid and irrefutably gentle. I could be like the water, I found myself reasoning, I could be gentle and soft; my hands could be like silk over the surface of his skin; my lips could be as light as the rippling blue current…

Why was it so very impossible to just _trust_ myself? To know that some part of me believed I could be so controlled and sensitive to my strength should have encouraged me, should have made my decisions for me. So why was I fighting it so hard? He'd told me himself that he hadn't been hurt badly—that he tended to bruise easily. Hadn't I spent so long underestimating him? Wasn't it time I trusted his judgment? This was what we both wanted, and I knew what to expect now… Wasn't it possible that it would be easier now?

I had been lost in my reverie for so long that by the time my awareness returned to the kitchen, the room was flooded with the orange light of sunset.

I was surprised that Beau hadn't interrupted me by now, and when I turned to face him, it was easy to see why. He seemed as lost in his thought as I had been, his gaze far away and unfocused.

"Beau?" I whispered.

My voice seemed to bring him round, and he blinked, his gaze lifting to my face. Inexplicably, he flushed with delicious color.

"Sorry, uh, what?"

I smiled softly at him, and reached up to touch his cheek. He truly must be spent. "Time for bed?"

He made a face at my choice of words, and I couldn't help laughing.

"Let's go," I urged him, sliding my hand into his, and pulling him toward the bedroom down the hall.

We'd moved Beau's things to the second bedroom—a darkly paneled, blue-themed room just down the hall from the master suite. The cleaning crew wasn't due to come for another couple of days, and I was afraid the mess in the bridal suite was just too much to ignore, so I'd suggested Beau sleep elsewhere in the interim.

As usual, Beau took his things with him to the bathroom to shower and change. I quickly slipped into a pair of silk sleeping shorts and a matching tank top. The color was just on the cream side of porcelain, nearly matching the shade of my skin exactly, and embroidered through with metallic gold thread. Its straps were far stringier than I would have liked, but the neckline wasn't totally immodest—and it was by far one of the more decorous items in my suitcase.

I picked up my book, an old, worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ —I'd been passing my nights reading until I could safely retreat to the dark underbrush of the rainforest.

A few minutes later, I heard the water turn off in the bathroom, and braced myself for the nightly assault of my husband's presence. It wasn't enough that Beau was, unexplainably, at his most desirable fresh out of the shower—flushed and warm, his fragrance swirling thickly through the air—but that desire had only increased in the last few days. Maybe it was because, now, I knew what I was missing.

He stepped into the bedroom, a pair of drawstring linen pants hanging off his hips, and was bare chested. Even sleeping with me in his arms, he claimed it was too hot here to wear much to bed. I often returned from my nightly runs to find him sweaty and flushed, and couldn't help but see reason to his claims.

As always, my eyes lingered a little too long on his naked torso before I was able to compose myself. He paused just marginally in the doorway, a mere stutter in his footfalls when his gaze fell on my face as he rubbed the towel through his hair, and then continued into the room.

I laid my book aside as he threw the towel in the hamper and then crossed the floor, barefoot, toward me.

The tight, coiling sensation only seemed to intensify as he came closer—and as it was every night, the desire was thick on the air between us. So concentrated was the sensation, I could almost taste it on the tip of my tongue, could almost sip it through a straw.

He climbed onto the mattress next to me, and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. I let my eyes flutter shut as his scent surrounded me like a cloud, his heat a pulsing, palpable force between us.

He leaned back marginally, but I didn't open my eyes. The rebellious, torturous rioting inside my body was a force to be reckoned with, possessing a mind entirely of its own. With these pleasurable sensations so heightened inside of me, it was difficult to think clearly—to call to mind the negations I'd held fast to for the past forty-eight hours.

In this moment, there was nothing I wanted more than for him to lean forward again, for him to capture my lips—tingling with warmth and longing—with his, to ease his warm, soft hands over my shoulders and down my back, and pull me to his bare chest. I wanted it with a strength that was alarming.

The humming energy that had been coursing through my body since that first night seemed to have strengthened tenfold in just this instant, and the intensity of it was baffling.

I felt his arms wind around me as he pulled me against his chest, our fronts pressed together, and separated only by the unbelievably thin silk material of my top. I noted the warmth of his skin against mine with alarm—not having realized that the clothing I'd selected for tonight's use was _so_ thin.

I wondered if Beau noticed this too, for his heart began to race, his breathing coming a little faster.

I rested my head against his shoulder, but tilted my head back so I could gaze into his lovely face. There was color in his cheeks, and undeniable emotion in his eyes. So intense was the strength of that emotion—clear longing, apparent desperation—that for an instant, all thought fell away, and I could only respond to the unspoken question in his eyes.

Before I knew what was happening, my lips were on his—for the first time in two days—and my hands were locked in his hair, pulling him tightly—but carefully—against me. As expected, he returned the kiss immediately, his arms tightening around me, and his breath coming in an almost wild gasp. I swallowed the taste of his breath, and boosted myself higher so I could ease into his lap, nuzzling eagerly against his alluring warmth.

The room was entirely silent except for the sounds of our rapid breathing, and the lush sound of our lips separating, and then coming back together.

Beau's hand shifted against my waist, the tips of his fingers easing underneath my top's hem—and clarity returned to me like the blast of an alarm.

Automatically, I tensed, bracing myself against the barrage of images, all too vivid. Some of them real, and some of them imaginings of what assuredly would ensue if I allowed this to continue.

I put just enough space between us so that he could breathe, but Beau didn't move. His hands tightened around my waist, holding me in place with a pleading sort of desperation. His warm breaths washed evenly across my lips and chin, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything.

I kept my eyes tightly shut, struggling against the rioting, rebellious sensations in my body—the very cells that strained toward him, craved those fingertips against my skin again, desired those lush lips on mine, wanted to taste his skin, feel the firmness of his muscles underneath my hands…

"Edythe," Beau breathed finally, "Don't fight this. Please."

I shook my head. "We can't, Beau… We can't do this." I began an attempt to disentangle myself from his lap, but he only held me tighter.

"Why not?" he challenged, his voice low and hoarse in a way it only sounded in these lust-filled moments. Again, the memories from that first night almost overcame me. "I'm going crazy here, Edythe. Crazy… Maybe if we tried again, it would be different… You never know…"

A despairing, self-disgusted moan rose from my core. "I can't do this, Beau. I can't. So please don't ask me."

Somehow, I found the will to crawl out of his lap, and to turn away from him. I sat on the edge of the bed, curled in on myself, willing the tumultuous beast in my body to subside.

Mercifully, Beau did not touch me.

For a long few moments, there was only the sound of his even breathing, his slowing heart. And then, a few minutes later, the telltale sound of a book being picked up, and the pages being turned.

I breathed deeply and evenly, forcing the rebellious cravings back into their cage— _it's not for forever; it just for now_ —and when I finally felt I was in control, I turned back to look at him.

I had sat on the edge of the bed for so long that darkness had completely fallen over the room, and he'd had to flick on the bedside lamp in order to see the words on the pages in front of him. Beau was leaning against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes carefully focused on the book in his hands.

I knew he must have felt my eyes on him, because his heart rate picked up when I silently turned around. But he didn't look up; he simply remained focused on his reading, giving me the time I needed to regain my composure.

In measured and wary movements, I crawled back across the bed to him, and rested my head against his shoulder. Then I released a heavy sigh—how long had it been since I'd taken a breath?

Beau inclined his head to rest his cheek on my hair, letting the book fall shut in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to push you… I just… I didn't expect it to be like this—after knowing what it's like, it's so much harder to fight, and I just…"

The sound of his shame-filled apology stabbed me through with ignominy and despair. My features crumpled beneath the pain of it. "No," I whispered, weaving my fingers through his, "Don't be sorry. It was me who started things, anyway. It is _me_ who should be apologizing. I should not have… Bolstered your hopes. It was inexcusable of me to claim one thing, and then to lead you on in the complete opposite direction. To toy with your emotions in such a way was deplorable, and I promise you that I will not do it again. I _will_ be in better control of myself from here on out."

Beau swallowed thickly. Even without seeing his face, I could feel there were words he was not saying.

Normally, I would have insisted he ask his questions—but in this moment, I was too much of a coward to enquire about them.

We stayed that way for a long time, propped against the headboard, until Beau's body relaxed into mine, and his breathing slowed. I knew he was asleep, and so I pulled away carefully, easing him down onto the pillows, pulling the book from his lap and setting it aside. I turned out the light, and settled against his side.

For the first time in a long time, I did not flee into the night once his mumbling slowed a few hours later. For the first time, I stayed with him, watching his face, peaceful in slumber, and paying attention to the sensations that filled my body.

The ache of restrained desire was acute to the point of pain. But as I ruminated over it, focused on it, I realized it was a pain I could endure, a pain I could learn to coexist with instead of fighting. Knowing that there was no possible way I could begin to smother the sensations in my body, I was able to regard it in a different light as the moon dipped low in the sky, and then sun began to rise.

It was something I would not be able to vanquish—just as I had never been able to extinguish my thirst for human blood. But it was something I could master, something I could claim dominion over.

In a way, this temptation was easier to rule, because I knew—unlike my thirst—that I would be able to answer those cravings again one day. It was simply a matter of biding my time, anticipating the day when Beau would be strong and indestructible.

How many times had I compared my sense of the passage of time in comparison to Beau's? How quickly did the days pass for me?

Really, it was only a matter of hours. We would return to Forks in a week—in time to feign our going away to school—and then the three days over which Beau's transformation would occur. All in all, the time totaled an entirety of fourteen additional days—three hundred and thirty six hours. That wasn't so long—it wasn't so unattainable.

I knew, in an instinctual way, that the wait would only make the reward sweeter, and with this knowledge, I was able to spend the rest of the night in some sort of semblance of peace.

My hungers, my cravings, would not go unanswered. Though the last century didn't hold a candle to the perpetual waiting I had to do now, I knew I could be patient. After all, by the time Beau woke awhile later, my hours had shortened to only three hundred and thirty one.

.

Beau inhaled deeply as he woke, rolling onto his back. He stretched his arms above his head, and then slowly pulled himself up to sitting, turning to regard me with a serious expression.

For an instant, I wondered if he would be angry with me for last night's occurrences. The term 'tease' suddenly came to mind. Did he think of me in that way? Was he more frustrated with my hesitance than he'd alluded to?

But then he smiled tenderly at me, though I could recognize the pensive disappointment in his eyes. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Beau raked his hands through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I slept fine," he finally said, gazing out the window—pausing to watch the gentle cresting of the waves against the sand.

I could see the dissatisfaction on his face, and I knew that this hadn't been an easy few days for him, either. I knew he still must be thinking of our kiss last night, and all the anticipation and hope it had bolstered. I felt awful for my selfish lapse in control.

"Can I say something?" I asked as he scooted to the edge of the mattress.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression surprised and slightly suspicious. "Sure. What is it?"

"I know I already apologized for last night—but I had some more time to think while you were sleeping… And I would just like to reiterate, again, that I'm sorry…"

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my palm to stop him.

"I know you must feel as if you are very alone in your cravings and longings… I know you must feel as if I've given you everything you wanted and then abandoned you… But rest assured, Beau, you are not alone. The pleasure I felt on that very first night was earth-shattering… It was so much more than I was expecting, and there were so many emotions and sensations at work inside of me… I felt very much out of control, and that scared me—because I did you harm…" My eyes lingered very briefly on the steadily fading shadow contouring his jaw. "The fear that I may do so again keeps me from being intimate with you—which I know you must understand. But what you might not realize is that I am very much at war with another side of me—another side that would like to try again… That longs for it with an unceasing fervor… But it is a fervor I cannot yield to, for the fear… And I'm sorry for that…

But I _was_ thinking last night, about how—really—it's not that much time left, until you're changed, and until we can be together again. I counted the days and the hours out, and it's only a matter of biding our time, Beau. So you see—we can enjoy the island and all it entails, and each other's company, for the remainder of our time here. And once we're home, we'll incite the change as soon as you're prepared… It's only a few days, really…" I could hear the over-exaggerated eagerness in my voice, and I knew that I was trying to convince myself of this fact just as much as I was attempting to convince him.

For a long moment, he stared blankly at me. The room was utterly silent aside from the call of the morning birds outside, and the crash of the ocean waves.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Okay."

I waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, I found myself stunned. Would he simply leave it at that?

"That's all?" I asked blankly, watching him rise and pull a t-shirt on over his head. I couldn't quite bring myself to believe it—his lack of argument, the total and complete absence of protest, despite the obviousness of his desire and impatience.

Beau padded across the wooden floor to the dark teak bureau where his suitcase sat, rummaging through for his toothbrush and deodorant. "I mean, it wouldn't be fair of me to push you past the point you're comfortable with," he muttered as he searched. "We agreed to try on the first night, and you kept your word on that promise. I don't see why I should be pushing for more than I bargained for. That would make me a jerk." He turned to glance at me, toothbrush in hand, and shrugged. "It doesn't mean I wouldn't _like_ to try again. What I said before—about the practice thing—I still think it's true. But I'm not going to pressure you if you're scared. That just doesn't seem right."

My throat felt thick with a flood of gratitude, quickly followed by the guilt.

"You are too good for me," I whispered.

He seemed to find humor in that sentiment. "I'm just gonna take a human minute," he said, gesturing toward the door with his thumb, "And then we can figure out what we're going to do today."

.

I took extra care with Beau's breakfast, touched beyond words by his graciousness and kind understanding.

Impossibly, knowing he would now also make an effort to abstain, it was even more difficult to stifle my desires. Lovemaking seemed like such an appropriate way to express my gratitude and love for him… Why did this have to be so _hard_?!

I tried to maneuver my train of thought in a different direction as I cracked the eggs for the waffle batter—marveling at how easy it was for me to exert the utmost of meticulous forces in order to break the egg's shell without obliterating its inner contents. I knew I was able to do this because I was not being inundated with a million other sensory preoccupations, but it was impossible for me not to compare this ministration to the intimate acts of touching Beau just two nights previous.

If there were any way to be successful at such an endeavor… And then—it came to me. Hadn't all been well up until _I_ had been overcome with my own lustful sensations? And though bringing him pleasure had caused me to ache, I knew that such a thing _was_ possible…

The only uncertainty was where the line would be drawn. I knew now that pleasing him pleased me—and that the same went for him. Was it even conceivable that I would be able to stop myself before things went too far again? Was I playing with fire here?

Maybe this was a possibility I shouldn't even be hoping for.

I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, careful not to get any eggshell in the batter. Apparently this was an unpleasant experience for the human who had walked me through this recipe on The Food Network. Though I'd watched Beau prepare this very same recipe for his parents months ago when we'd been in Florida, I had worked very hard to learn and memorize the same steps and ingredients from another, wanting to surprise him with this.

When he stepped into the room fifteen minutes later, I thought I'd succeeded at that. His eyes went wide for a moment as he took in the food in front of him, and then lifted to my face.

"How am I supposed to eat all of that?" he demanded, and I couldn't help but laugh. I supposed I'd gone a tad overboard with the quantity of the food, but I wanted to make sure he was replacing the calories he was burning all day, every day.

"Eat as much as you like," I encouraged him as I set a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice by his plate. "We'll save the rest for later."

Beau stared at the heaping plates of waffles, bacon, eggs and the overflowing bowl of ripe red strawberries and freshly whipped cream, shaking his head a little to himself.

I sat at the little bistro table across from him, watching as he began to eat.

"So, what would you like to do today?" I asked after a few moments of content silence.

Beau deliberated for a moment. "Snorkeling was pretty cool," he finally said. "We could do that again."

I grinned at his gorgeous visage. "Perfect."

.

The sight of Beau in his snorkeling gear was undeniably endearing.

I watched from where I stood in the surf as he struggled with the flipper a little ways away, his face set in a firm mask of concentration, the goggles propped on top of his head.

"Need some help there?" I called teasingly.

He grunted a little with frustration. "Stupid… Slippery… Rubbery… Gah!" His hands slipped from the grip he'd had on the swimming apparatus, and he almost tilted backward into the sand.

I struggled to stifle my laughter.

"Stop that," he griped as he went back to his little battle, "Just… Quit it."

Finally, he seemed to win the war and stood, flippers firmly in place, pulling the goggles out of his hair. He spat into the eyepiece, and then rubbed it around the spectacles.

"Why is this necessary?" he wondered to himself as he approached me in an exaggerated waddle.

For a moment, I only watched him—prolifically amused by his extravagant gait. He glanced up at me as he rinsed the goggles with sea water, lifting an eyebrow sardonically when he saw my expression.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm hilarious."

He slipped the strap over his head and situated the frames over his eyes, reorienting the snorkel into its correct position.

A small chorus of giggles slipped from my lips. "You really are, Beau," I assured him, and then went on, "You spit in your goggles to keep them from condensing under the water. When the temperature inside the lens differs from the dew point outside the mask, the goggles fog up."

"Of course," he intoned sarcastically.

I grinned. "Snorkeling 101."

We made our way into the tepid ocean together, examining the aquatic sea life and flora at a pace that I let Beau set. I swam easily at his side as he took in the craggy shapes of the coral reef, the thousands of different species of fish, eels and the occasional sea turtle.

"Did you see that one?" he enthused during one of the occasions he'd surfaced for a break. "I swear it was four feet across his shell!"

I nodded, beguiled by his childlike enthrallment of the foreign life around him. I had made it a personal goal of mine to expose him to the wonders of the planet way back in the beginning, when he'd admitted he'd never traveled out of the United States. Where else could we go…? What else could I show him? The possibilities were endless: The coliseums of ancient Rome… Scotland's formidable stone castles… The great pyramid of Giza… The hanging gardens of Babylon… Ephesus's Temple of Artemis, the mausoleums in Central Asia… Stonehenge… The Great Wall of China… The Taj Mahal…

If he was this enthralled by simple marine life, how would he feel about South Asia's clear Maldive waters, or the volcanic eruptions of Stromboli, Italy, or the impressive sandstone peaks and plateaus of South America?

If he was this enthralled by the sights around him, how much more beguiled would he be once changed? If he could see the stretch of turquoise ocean through my eyes, if he could see the way the sun glinted off its surface, if he could see the uniqueness of each sand grain under our feet as I could, if he could discern the veins that coursed through the vegetation during our jungle hikes… He would be even more spellbound.

And yet—none of the beauty on this island could light a candle in comparison to Beau's wondrous fascination. It was far more interesting for me to watch the wonderment on his face than to take in any of this tropical oasis's sights. The mosaic patterns of the sea turtles' shells were nothing. The rainbow colored feathers of the parrots in the trees was nothing. The bright vibrancy of the flowers and vegetation was nothing. Not one iota of it compared to the light in Beau's eyes, as he observed all of this with a freshness and a newness that was undeniably charming.

Again, that same exhilaration detonated in my chest like small fireworks as I contemplated the potential of forever with him. Nothing to keep us, nothing to hold us, nothing to serve an obstacle. With the entire world at our disposal, we would be able to experience these things together—with fully realized vampire senses and liberations. It was going to be so satisfying.

We dove beneath the surface again for an additional number of hours before Beau finally admitted to starvation and fatigue. We broke for lunch, and then emerged back into the outdoors with renewed zest and exhilaration.

This time, we were headed in the direction of a hidden alcove in the moderate cliffs, and its pools of translucent waters. The little oasis was dominated by a large waterfall, consisting of several dips and clefts—and this was where I led Beau now. The gradual ascent—or descent, depending on one's vantage point—of the waterfall acted as an exaggerated imitation of a staircase, interspersed by bright jade palm fronds and rocky, sedimentary precipices.

How many people could say they'd climbed a waterfall on their honeymoon?

"We're gonna climb that?" Beau asked skeptically when we reached its base. He peered up at it uneasily.

"Sure we are," I told him excitedly.

Beau regarded the crashing gushes of water for a moment. "We're going to get wet."

"Yes," I agreed. I squeezed his hand. "Are you ready?"

He saw the blatant excitement on my face, and grinned. "If you are."

"Oh, I am."

"Then let's go."

The ascent was a slow one. Beau was very meticulous about where he put his feet and hands, and the way he hauled himself up to the next perch. I stayed right beside him, ready to assist him if he needed, or catch him if he slipped—but he did pretty well.

I had not expected the rush of desire that intensified as I watched him work his muscles and stamina—as his hesitance and trepidation surely gave way to confidence and exhilaration.

It was a few hours later that we reached the top of the cliff.

Beau raised his fists high in the air, and I wished I'd brought along a camera so I could capture this moment for him—to cherish it forever. The accomplished expression on his face was stunning.

"I can't believe I didn't break my leg!" he shouted into the humid air.

I laughed, and had to reach up to kiss him, feeling absolutely carefree and totally energized. "I would never let that happen," I assured him. Then I abruptly turned to the overhang. We were probably fifty or sixty feet up from where we'd started. "So, ready to jump?"

I was rewarded by Beau's wide-eyed expression of terror, and the laughter burst from me again.

"I'm only joking, Beau!"

He laughed, appearing relieved, and I turned again to take in the sites. I planted my hands on my hips and breathed deeply through my nose—inhaling the various scents of lush, blooming flora, composting dirt and vegetation, the musky scent of birds and wildlife, and the trademark almost brackish smell of nearby reptilian species, whether they were snakes or some sort of lizard, I didn't know. I wasn't familiar enough with their scents to discern such a thing.

The towering trees of the rainforest still stretched several stories above us, their thick canopy blotting out the blazing sun overhead and tinting the light around us a phosphorescent green color, tingeing Beau's eyes a bewitching, unaccustomed shade.

"Your eyes look beautiful in this light," I couldn't resist telling him.

As I would have suspected, he flushed bright with color. Then he smiled, a little sheepishly, dropping those eyes to his feet. He shuffled a little, obviously made uncomfortable by my attentions. "Thanks," he said, splashing in the little rivulet we were standing in with the toe of his shoe.

Almost more quickly than I could have comprehended, Beau abruptly lost his balance, his arms wheeling reflexively as he attempted to regain his balance before falling into the languid pond we were standing by. He would be in no immediate rush of going over the edge, as we'd followed the turquoise waters a few dozen feet away from the edge of the precipice, but I could see the clear panic in his eyes.

Before the terror in his expression could fully surface, I reached out to steady him. His hand clamped down on my shoulder as we worked together to reconstitute his equilibrium, and he released a breathless, uneasy laugh.

"Maybe we should be getting back. I didn't mean for you to take the cliff diving joke literally."

"We're fifty yards from the edge," he protested, as I pulled him toward the surrounding trees.

"Still. With you, one can never be too sure."

He laughed sardonically. "True."

.

 **A/N:** One of the things I found myself disappointed in was the clear lack of descriptors regarding the island and the activities Bella and Edward undertook while there. I can understand how SM might have been pressed for time and plot details (BD is a very long book) so I'm having fun filling in the spaces.

I live in western Canada, pretty close to the Rocky Mountains, and we got a HUUUGE dump of snow last night (it's April, yep) and so I'm really, really wishing for a tropical vacation. This is my way of getting away vicariously through Beau and Edythe. Haha!


	7. Capitulation

**A/N:** NC-17 ahead, guys! Fair warning. From here on out, things get pretty different. Our true test has come! LOL! Let's see if you guys are actually fans now that I'm left on my own to plot!

.

We passed the next series of days dithering between a number of recreational activities—Beau swam with the dolphins again, and we spent a lot of time on the beach collecting seashells and uniquely-shaped and –colored stones. Swimming had become a twice-daily occurrence for us—at least. We were hiking through the jungle and climbing cliff walls whenever Beau found interest.

The days spent so exclusively in physical activity were affecting his body in obvious ways—firming the long muscles in his legs and arms, tightening his behind and abdomen in the most becoming of ways. This unexpected toning of his body, along with the healthy golden glow from the sun, only made him more desirable.

It was the seventh night, and the evidence of my monstrosity from the first night had all but faded. The bruises had been my final anchor, my last desperate grasp at straws for when my rebellious emotions and urges almost managed to get away from me. And now that his wounds were healed, my resolve had reached all new levels of capricious.

I thought it would help that Beau had resolved to respect my wishes. But to see him holding back his own desires and complaints only harmed me. As the days passed, I could only regard my limitations in a selfish light. How long had he waited, longed and hoped for this? And how quickly had my insecurities and slights cast the possibility out?

Each day brought with it another impossible argument with the two sides of my mind, another oh-so-tempting compromise. And each day, I battled them back with as much ferocity as I could wield.

Beau wasn't so well-composed that I didn't catch him watching me when he thought I didn't know—often, in fact. The hopeless desire I witnessed in his eyes time after time was like a physical blow, multiple times a day. But each time, I was able to distract the obvious wandering of his mind, to employ another game, hike or swim to take his—and my—thoughts off the impossibility of any future union between our physical bodies. We swam, snorkeled and walked for hours through the tropical foliage. We played game after game of two-player card games, chess and other board games.

The one thing I avoided at all costs was any opportunity to be still. I vetoed every one of his suggestions to watch a movie, or any other activity that would leave us susceptible, ready at all times with another suggestion that would invariably catch his interest. And day after day, it worked always in my favor.

But nights were something I could not avoid, and the next few passed in a torturous fashion. In the first three nights, I'd finished over two thirds of the books on Carine and Earnest's shelf in an impassioned, vital need to keep my brain occupied. I was finishing my twentieth novel one night when Beau walked into the room after his nightly shower, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and nothing else.

As usual, I was assaulted with the usual burst of desire—with the firm, golden-toned muscles of his chest, arms and torso on full display, it was impossible not to be. But I had been facing this every night for the past six nights, and so it shouldn't be so difficult a thing to master… Except that it was.

Also as usual, he climbed into bed and pulled my body against his chest.

For all the cravings and hungers that had wreaked their havoc on my body and mind this week, it was nothing to the way I felt now—absolutely starved for him. Every cell in my body cried out in desperation—but I could not allow it.

However, being so close to him was torture—the fire of unattainable lust raked through my body so potently it was painful. My hands itched to stroke every fine muscle in his body, to fully appreciate every inch of his silken skin pressed to mine…

I expelled a hefty sigh, attempting to meliorate my indecorous mind as I rested my cheek against his naked shoulder.

"So, I was thinking…" he said after a minute, as he combed his fingers through my hair, braiding it through with warmth and his succulent scent.

"Hmm. What about?" I murmured, forcing my eyes away from his taut torso, which I'd been watching twitch and jump with every gush of blood that flowed through his renal artery.

"Well… I know we decided that the whole Dartmouth thing was just going to be a cover story, but… I don't think one semester of college would kill me, right? Charlie'd love the stories, and Renee would be tickled pink to know I'm at least _attempting_ to keep up with all the geniuses… It might be nice to do the college thing together, to live on our own and maybe make some friends—before I'm all rabid and blood-crazed…"

I was stunned into silence. For a long moment, my brain would not compute his words—the same words I'd said a long time ago, in my attempt to delay the folly of his eagerness to discard his human life. The shock was so potent that my brain flopped like a fish in its attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Dartmouth… So far from priority had those thoughts been in my mind that I had almost forgotten about its prospect. But if that was what he was proposing, then that would mean…

"You would wait. You would stay human…" My voice was colorless with the strength of my disbelief.

He didn't answer.

"Where is this coming from?" I wondered, "Why now? What could have possibly changed your mind about this in the last week?" How long had I been lobbying for exactly _this_ , and how long had he pushed against it?

Suddenly, frustration swept through me. I had been counting the days—the _hours_! And now, he was delaying this one thing that had given me a beacon of hope, a sliver of dominion over self! How long would it be now until he was ready? Months? _Years_?

Fully aware of the selfishness of my thoughts, I sat up to look at him—feeling the wild desperation on my face.

No—I realized. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed except maybe his desperation for our physical love; where once he'd had it firmly grasped in his hand, now I was withholding it, and it was now becoming too much for him. Was this his way of manipulating me into trying again? Was he simply trying a more covert, less-assertive tactic because he felt bad for pressuring me?

I felt my eyes narrow. "You don't want to go to college," I accused, my voice quietly suspicious.

His chin lifted a fraction of an inch, and defensiveness flashed in his eyes. "Yes, I do."

I sighed. "No, you don't. You just don't think I'm strong enough to resist you for much longer—and you're hoping that if you give it enough time, my resilience will diminish… Do you really think I'd risk hurting you again for my own selfish pleasure? College, and anything else you may come up with—are not worth risking your life again; that's worth harming you."

A barely discernible flash of unanticipated pain tightened Beau's features for just an instant, and I realized that, in that moment, I'd been—somehow—wrong. If what I'd said held truth for him, the emotion on his face now would be defensiveness, or even embarrassment. Not the affect of insult I was seeing now.

He was quiet for a minute, casting his eyes away—and I was abruptly appalled at myself. How crass and unthinking of me! How cruel to assume I knew what he was thinking!

"I _do_ want to go to college," he finally mumbled quietly, picking at the edge of the bed sheet. "Or, at least… I mean, it's just… I want to maybe stay human for a little bit longer…"

His admission left me bewildered. How many times had we had this very argument—except that all along, he'd been so adamantly _ready_ to give up his life! "What brought this on?" I asked again, my tone thick with bewilderment, "How many times have you insisted that you're ready for this, Beau? Why now? What changed?"

And as soon as I said the words, I knew.

"I have a reason now that I didn't have before…" he said quietly, and then lifted his gaze to lock his eyes on mine. He reached up to cradle my face in his hands, searing me through with delicious, agonizing pleasure. I sighed in frustration as I let my eyes slide shut, resting my cheek in his palm.

"You're willing to risk your life for gratification of the flesh?" I whispered.

"Um... Yeah."

I felt the amusement surface, in spite of myself. "You are so human, Beau. Ruled by your hormones."

He smiled, but then quickly seemed to seriously contemplate this. He watched my face as he thought, lifting his other hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. "I think that's the point," he finally murmured, "If I'm being honest, the biggest reservation I've had over the whole thing is that I'll totally lose myself in those first few years… That'll I'll be… Someone unrecognizable… A crazy, bloodthirsty stranger… I know who I am right now. I know what I like, and what I want, and how I'll react to any given situation… And now that I know _this_ part of things—I'm… Well, I'm not ready to give that up yet." He shrugged sheepishly. "Sure, it might be selfish of me… I know it's not realistic for me to ask you to try again. You've already agreed once, but I guess some part of me… Just wishes…"

"Just wishes that I'll lose all semblance of restraint," I finished for him.

He gave me a wan smile. "Yeah." He sighed. "No one does much right the first time, right? And I don't think there's been many people who've had a first time like we have… You were brave and trusting and vulnerable… More than I ever could have known or asked for… And I should be satisfied with that. I should be grateful for that one time… But it's taken my love and desire for you to a whole new level, and there's just this… This energy inside me, this craving to be with you that way again… To bring you pleasure… To make you happy… And I… I…"

"Shh," I pleaded with him, reaching up to lay my fingertips over his lips. I could feel the blood thrumming underneath their surface, and the warm passage of his even breaths against them. "This is just too much… To know it causes _me_ pain to resist is one thing—but to know it's causing you this much distress is wholly another…"

"What happened to trust?" he breathed, his tone beseeching and his sweet breath drifting across my face. "What happened to the give and take so many other husbands and wives have to go through? You've been the dominant one in our relationship for so long—and I've never felt bitter over that. There have _definitely_ been some times where you've needed to be the dominant one." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "But maybe… Maybe it's my turn now. To take the lead. For you to put the wheel in my hands."

"You don't _understand_ ," I breathed vehemently, "I don't think it works like that."

"Who says?" he challenged. "Maybe it'll be different, now that you know what to expect. Now that you know what's coming…"

"Do you know how close I came to killing you that first night?" I snapped, made defensive by the panic rising in my chest, tightening its iron fist until I couldn't breathe. "And I don't just mean the bruising, Beau. There was more… Did you ever wonder why there were feathers all over the place? Why or how so much destruction occurred that night? I almost bit you, Beau, and I still don't know why that happened. I came _this close_ to ending your life in a fit of passion… Tell me how could I subject you to that risk again? How am I supposed to bring myself to do that?!"

He blinked, obviously a little taken off guard. "Like I said…" he repeated, "The first time was intense… And you didn't know what to expect…"

Was he _seriously_ writing this off? It couldn't be!

I came up with a thousand counter-points in my head, but knew none of them would stick. We would never reach an agreement on this subject.

"You should sleep," I urged, "You've had a busy day."

"It's always a busy day around here," he mumbled grumpily, but mercifully conceded on our conversation, and settled in for sleep.

A long few moments passed, with only the soft sounds of his respiration filling the room. I thought he'd fallen asleep, and was surprised when he spoke with perfect clarity and volume.

"You could trust me, you know."

I sighed, and stroked his hair, beginning to hum my song. When I was sure he'd succumbed to the exhaustion, I whispered into the dark room, "I do trust you. It's myself I don't trust."

.

"So are you going to tell me where we're going anytime soon?"

It was the next day, and I was taking Beau someplace I'd wanted to for quite some time. I had come across the underwater caves on one of our first nights on the island, during a nightly foray into the midnight jungle.

I'd been intrigued by the captivating echoes of air through cavernous spaces, and had followed its source until I'd come across the hidden wonders. The roofs of the caverns were littered with stalactites, which were blanketed in a strange, phosphorescent material the color of the softest lilac, seeming to glow in the otherwise darkened spaces. I hadn't ventured far when I'd first come across them, wanting to save this experience so I could share it with Beau.

Now, I led him through the thick vegetation, humming with excitement.

"I told you," I reiterated to my husband, "It's a surprise."

He sighed in exasperation as we continued out toward the bluffs. The sun was brilliant at its highest point in the sky—blazing white and completely unobstructed by cloud or cover.

When we came to the edge of the ocean, I set down the pack I'd brought along, glad I'd taken that scuba diving class with Archie in '97.

"What's that?" Beau asked as I began to pull the gear out of the pack. "Are we… Scuba diving?"

"Very good, Beau," I condoned him as I laid out each piece. "I didn't expect you to know what this was. And in answer to your question, yes, but only for a short while. There's a place I want to take you."

The diving equipment would only be required for the journey to the cave. Once we were situated in its convenient and beautiful air bubble, there would be no more need for the oxygen tank and flippers. From the brief exploration of the cenote I'd done, I knew there was plenty of space above water for us to explore. Around the perimeter of the first part of the cave were lots of ledges to rest and sit upon.

If my calculations were correct—and I had confidence that they were—from here, the dive would only take a matter of seconds, maybe two minutes. If Beau weren't as prone to misfortune as he seemed to be, I might have considered propelling him through the water while he simply held his breath. I could have us above the underground pool in a matter of seconds, but I did not trust well enough that Beau would be fine. So I'd taken extra precaution, and by my luck, I'd located the diving equipment in the equipment shed off to the side of the house.

Now, I watched Beau climb into it, and then fixated his mask for him. I took a step back to admire him in the scuba diving gear.

"Perfect," I surmised, grinning.

After a quick tutorial, we waded into the surf together, Beau walking backward as I held tight to both his hands so he wouldn't trip. When we were deep enough, we dove underneath the surface of the water together.

We swam hand in hand at a leisurely pace, while we took in more of the underwater show—it seemed the varying plant life and species of the ocean never ceased to end. Everyday we discovered something new, often things I, myself, had never seen before. I loved that I was able to share this with him, and felt no need to rush toward our surprise.

Beau didn't hesitate when, a few moments later, I pulled him toward deeper waters. I knew it would quickly become too dark for him to see the deeper we went, and I suddenly regretted not bringing along a waterproof flashlight for him. But as the inkiness cast deep shadows around our floating figures, he did not balk or show any sign of hesitation. To know he trusted me so explicitly was humbling and astonishing. I had never deserved his faith or confidence, and yet he'd given it to me freely, then and now.

A familiar giddy sensation came over me as I pulled him through an underground, dormant volcanic tube, which was connected to a series of other winding pathways and alcoves. I didn't really know how far they went, or where we would emerge if we were to follow the entire length of the tunnels, but it didn't really matter. I doubted Beau's oxygen tank held enough capacity for such a venture, and what was the point when he couldn't see much anyway?

He followed me willingly through the small length of tubular coral and rock, and squeezed through the small opening that would lead to the pool I'd come across nearly a week ago.

A moment later, we surfaced in the cavernous pocket of air. Beau pulled his mask off as he treaded in the water beside me, staring around us in amazement. I watched the rapt expression on his face as he took in the sea salt, which was encrusted in elaborate configurations on the cave walls, and encrusting the stalactites dangling above our heads. He took in the strange, glowing purple algae that blanketed the rocks, and more of it that floated in the water around us, tingeing the water the same bewitching color.

Thin strands of sunlight passed through various cracks and openings in the cave walls, providing just a small amount of additional light for Beau's human eyes.

"Wow," he finally said, and his voice echoed in the small space around us, "How did you find this?"

I floated backwards toward a sandy shelf of rock rimming the edge of the cave, and pulled myself up onto it. I reached a hand out for Beau, who strode toward me and grasped my wrist so I could hoist him out of the water.

"I was swimming one night after you'd fallen asleep," I said, checking to see if he might be offended by my leaving him, but he didn't seem to react, "And I heard the water echoing through the tubes. I decided to investigate, found this, and knew I had to share it with you," I finished with a smile.

A smile so genuine, so filled with awe and exhilaration, stretched across his face—and I could not breathe for the beauty in his visage.

"I'm glad," he said as he pulled the mask off the top of his head where he'd propped it and set it on the landing behind us. I helped him dispose of the oxygen tank strapped to his back—held on by way of a garment appearing halfway between a vest and a backpack.

I was assaulted by an unexpected gust of desire as he shrugged out of the contraption, exposing the entirety of his bare shoulders and torso to me. He pulled the flippers off last and set them beside the rest of the gear, and then turned back to me, grinning once more.

"So, what now?"

"Now, we just enjoy the view." I did not look away from his face, and he did not look away from mine.

Could he feel it—the strange energy in the air between us, like static electricity? I remembered the first time I'd felt this energy, in a little biology class back in a tiny little town in Washington so many long months ago. In the same way that the darkness shrouded us now, it had shrouded us then—only seeming to intensify the odd pulsing sensation between us.

"It's a nice view," Beau whispered, and reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. His voice was husky and muted in this little space that was only ours. His eyes remained locked on mine, and I watched as his pupils dilated, color flushing into his cheeks.

I was suddenly supremely aware of the warmth that radiated against my body, coming off his skin in pulsating waves. I was acutely aware of the mere foot of space that separated us, struggling more than I ever had to wrestle back the temptation to move closer to him still.

His face loomed nearer, and at first, I thought it was him leaning toward me, drawn by the strange magnetic pull between us, before I realized it was me inclining the top half of my body toward his.

I pulled up short, feeling my fingers loop into fists. The strain was impossible—the fracturing of my attentions and fortitude seeming to be unavoidable.

His scent swirled in the air, filling my mouth and throat and lungs with sweetness, and it was suddenly as if every inch of my skin had burst into flames. I wanted his hands, his lips, on my skin—knowing only they would extinguish this sudden fire.

Beau's eyes were filled with warm invitations, and the barely reserved obviousness of his own desire. The heartbreaking desperation in his face twisted my stomach with need and longing. I knew exactly what would take that desperateness away—and I knew exactly how happy he would be if I did… But _could I control myself?_

The current between us sparked more sharply, almost palpably—a series of white hot, electric jolts of lightening between our bodies.

I could practically feel each thump of his heart pulsing against me, could feel my own skin warming under the blanket of his heat… I wanted to touch him, knowing it would relieve some of the ache to do so, but I knew if I begun, there would be no stopping.

It would be very easy to allow the urges rioting inside to govern my body and my instincts and my actions. It would be very easy to lean forward until my head was against his shoulder, to contour my body against the forgiving width of his chest, to tilt my head back until I could feel his breaths on my lips, to brush my very sensitive fingertips along the tip of his shoulders and across his chest, down his taut stomach, and to the waistband of his swimming shorts.

Beau's heartbeat was pounding in my ears, drowning out the rhythmic rush of water against rock. His shallow breaths were surely and steadily filling up the little rocky space with his fragrance—so thick was it in the air that I could taste it, sweet and sultry, on the tip of my tongue. How much sweeter his skin would taste, how much sweeter would be his lips…

In a series of slow and measured movements that I would not be able to miss, Beau reached up to lay a blazing palm alongside my face, and to curl the other around my shoulder.

And the crackling, sizzling, tingling sensation exploded into an all-out electrocution of the most concentrated lust and desire I'd ever felt. No longer did I merely _want_ him, no longer did I merely desire his lips, his hands, his body against mine. I _needed_ it. I needed _him_.

Every one of my formerly formed arguments were falling away—steadily and unavoidable, helpless as an avalanche under the melting heat of his touch. I floundered around in my head, trying with every strength I had, to bring to mind the image of his bruised and battered body. It wasn't so now, as the bruises had faded days ago—but if I risked his safety again… Surely it would be that way again. But I could not see it, could not picture his injuries—I could only see the firm, shapely muscles of his deltoids and biceps, and the curve of his pectoral muscles, and the tight muscles in his abdomen.

I clenched my eyes shut, hoping it would help to jog my memory, but this only made it worse—because the only memories I could recall were from that first night, and they weren't of the blackened marks on his body. Quickly, I opened them again, finding Beau watching me—and I wondered what he saw in my face at that moment, because something shifted in his eyes. Something that had been immovable before, but was now vanquished.

"I want you," he admitted in a husky whisper—and his voice burned, eliciting a weakness I could not resist. "I _need_ you."

"Beau," I tried to whisper in protest, but the sound of his name would not form on my lips. Every part of me was consumed with the blaze his eyes on me ignited. I was no longer slipping and skidding down a crumbling mountainside—I was free-falling through open air.

 _I can't, I can't—I won't…_ But the words of protest in my mind were just that—words. There was no concrete affability behind them, no confirmation of my conviction. Only words. Only noise.

A small, tortured sound exited my throat as I struggled with the chaotic storm inside. I knew, even as I resisted, that I could not fight it any longer. I had tried valiantly, but it was no longer possible.

And then he leaned far enough forward to fill my vision with his face—his beautiful, beseeching face. "Please," he breathed raggedly, "Just trust me."

Those final words were the blade that severed the final tie of my opposition.

With a moan—caught somewhere between fear and longing—I surrendered to his entreaties, locking my arms around his neck and pulling his lips to mine. They were so much sweeter than I had recalled, so much warmer and silkier.

He pulled me into his warm embrace, dragging me up against his chest as his lips moved against mine hungrily, passionately. I sighed as his lips trailed across the line of my cheekbone, and then down my throat, enveloping me in his saccharine warmth.

I felt every shift of sedimentary material beneath me as he pushed me onto my back, covering me with his body, stretching the length of it against mine. Our breaths were strident and rapid as we struggled to keep up with the force of our passions.

In a flash, Beau had yanked the bandeau strip of my bikini top down to my waist, and his lips—hot and moist assaulted my sensitive, aching flesh.

"I'm going to hell," I moaned as he kissed and licked at my throat, my shoulders, and the swell of my breasts.

"Not on my watch," came his response, breathless and ragged as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my bikini bottoms. He tugged them down over my hips, discarded them who knows where—I didn't care.

His hands were velvety and feverish, and very, very distracting, on the skin of my thighs and hips.

A soft groan slipped from his throat as he lowered his lips to the flat pane of my stomach. "You're so beautiful," he moaned, trailing his nose and lips up, along the valley between my breasts.

I wanted desperately to touch him, to knot my fingers in his hair, but was terrified of the unrelenting, monstrous passion that coursed through my veins. I worried I was not in enough control to be able to touch him without harming him. Instead, I clawed at the foundation underneath me—in long, rhythmic passes of my nails. Focusing on the back and forth motion of my fingers against the rock was soothing in someway. It gave me something to focus on through the swirling chaos of my hazy mind.

Beau's lips ascended to mine again, moving as insistently as my own as he stroked and caressed my breasts, and up and down my waistline.

With tentative hands, I caressed his back, his chest and his arms—remembering the gentleness of the ocean waves and trying to replicate that with my touches.

Today we lingered over these touches, these caresses, but not for the same reasons we'd lingered on that first night. Our first time had been filled with uncertainty and fear, caution and nervousness. This time, we delayed the inevitable not for fear, but because our desire—which had been withheld and stifled for too long—was unprecedented in its strength. The unending hours and days of abstinence had given a whole new meaning to need. There was the sense of a feast after famine, or a drink of water after a long trek through the desert.

This was how we found ourselves now—starved for the other, and desperately devouring each other with our mouths and hands.

Of course, Beau was more dauntless than I. He always had been. He stroked my skin with hands that were sure and steady, desperate and clutching. His words of assurance and accolade hardly ceased as he blanketed my shoulders, throat and chest with his kisses.

His hands trailed down my stomach, stroking back and forth between my hipbones—I was sure, feeling the unusual tenseness there.

"Trust me, Edythe," he begged, as those fingers moved even lower, toward where my thighs were clenched together.

I barely hesitated for a moment before allowing one knee to fall aside. As much as the thought of losing myself terrified me, it also called to me on a deeper, unavoidable level. I wanted him to touch me, and I knew he wanted it, too.

He kissed and sucked along my jaw and throat as his fingers stroked my inner thigh, light as a feather and soft as silk. And then, ever so gently, those fingers ascended to the folds of aching, tingling flesh between my thighs, and I drew a sharp breath.

The fire, which had been so potent before, flared impossibly brighter—an inferno. White heat flashed behind my vision as his warm fingertips made contact with the most sensitive place in my body and began to gently explore.

My breaths, which had already been shaky, grew exponentially louder and harsher. Small moans of pleasure erupted from my throat, unbidden, as his fingers elicited unfamiliar and very pleasurable reactions inside me. The fire which had spread like a brushfire over the entire surface of my body was now swirling in a very focused circle, low in my stomach. I was surprised by the rapid build of pleasure brought on by his touch.

Soon, I had gouged considerable furrows in the rocky beach, as I struggled to focus the excess urges elsewhere.

When both my body and mind seemed to begin a precarious sort of fracture underneath the impetus of sensation, I rolled until I was on top of him. An affectionate purring sound vibrated in my throat as I grasped his jaw, tilting his head back so I could gain access to the sweet, fragrant skin of his throat.

I pressed my lips to the pulse point in his neck, letting its rhythmic force pulse against my lips. I kissed across his clavicle and down along his sternum, his racing heart roaring in my ears.

When I looked up into his face, I found him watching me—his eyes were very serious, and he did not blush. The strength of desire in his gaze was unspeakable, unfathomable, and for a moment, I froze.

"Am I dreaming?" he wondered raspily as I lowered my lips to his chest again, stroking the tapering line of his waist and hips with my sensory-overloaded fingertips. "Or is this really happening?"

I laughed softly, and he shivered when the burst of my cool breath washed over his skin. "No, Beau, this is really happening."

I traced the contour of his ribcage with the tip of my nose, breathing in the fragrance of his skin.

His hands pulled at me, and I allowed him to hoist my body up along his chest. I kissed his lips, unable to hold back my blissful grin as his hands gripped my hips, subtly pushing me against his obvious excitement, restrained by the material of his swim trunks.

"A little eager, are we?" I teased.

A grin flickered across his lips for just a moment. "Just a little," he quipped.

I rolled until he was hovering above me again, and then reached down for the waistband of his shorts. In my haste to push them out of my way, I heard a sharp tearing sound.

For a moment, we stared at each other, wide-eyed, and then we glanced down at the shredded material in my hands.

Beau burst into laughter, his body quaking against mine. I couldn't help but join in on his disbelieving chortling.

He was still laughing as he buried his face in my hair, and pressed his lips against the skin underneath my jaw.

His quivering body against mine was doing strange things to my mind, and a wanton sigh slipped from between my lips.

Beau lifted his head, propping his elbows on either side of my head to look at me. "You're sure you're okay with this?" he confirmed.

I separated my knees willingly—and, if I was being truthful, more than a little frantic for his closeness. I nodded, brushing my lips very softly against his, and then trailed them up across his cheek, toward his ear.

"Love me," I breathed into it.

He shuddered once, and then reached for my hands, easing them up over my head. His palms remained flat against mine, and though I knew there was no way his mortal strength would keep me here, his gentle presence was like a blanket of security. He did not take his eyes off of mine as he eased inside of me, and though he did not speak, it was clear that he was assuring me.

 _I'm right here,_ his eyes seemed to say as they bored into mine, _We're here, together, we're in control of this, and I've got you._

In a way I wasn't used to feeling, but was steadily growing accustomed to, I felt very safe and protected. It seemed a strange thing to want to feel this way. Physically, I was more powerful than almost any other creature in the world. My skin was impenetrable, my heart unstoppable. What should I be afraid of?

But emotionally, I was just as confused and delicate as any new bride—and to have my husband here beside me, to encourage me along this new journey we were sharing together, was unequivocally comforting.

Beau began to move inside me as he lowered his lips back to mine, and the flames in my abdomen flared with such intensity that a low moan slid between my lips.

Overwhelmed by the strength of my need, I could not comprehend any one of my surroundings. Every sense was inundated by the sight, scent, feel and smell of Beau. His fragrance poured over me in saccharine waves. Where our bodies were connected, the pleasure was at its most intense, but there was also a continuous, thrumming energy in the tips of my fingers and in the balls of my feet.

I recognized the growing pleasure in the pit of my stomach, like a slow boil, and as Beau's pace quickened, so did the sensation. I remembered this from last time, knowing that I could not trust my urge to hold him closer, or to put my hands on him. There was a low, humming noise steadily vibrating in my chest—so intense that it was sending quivers from my body into Beau's.

He was panting raggedly, leaving open-mouthed kisses on my shoulders, neck and jaw.

The inward sensations were rising to a boiling point—like the crimson line of mercury in a thermometer steadily mounting. I knew, sooner or later, that it would become too much—the glass would shatter, and the pleasure would explode outward.

The urge to chase this delightful avenue to its conclusion was overwhelming—and I battled against it, knowing in doing so, I would be required to give up what semblance of self-control remained inside me.

The age-old instinct to flee clutched at me, but there was nowhere to go. Beau was above me, inside me, against me, all around me—I was entirely enveloped by his presence. Desperate for some sort of outlet for my growing excesses, I clawed at the sandy shale on the ground above my head as my soul began to give way—crumbling from beneath my feet.

A strident moan of denial resonated from deep inside my throat as my body betrayed my efforts. My back arched off the floor in its attempts to press even closer to his body than I already was, my hips lifting on their own accord as I pursued my own release now, unrelenting.

The mammoth power behind the peak of my pleasure was just as unrelentingly powerful as it had been the first time, and I heard my own cries of alternating delight and fear echoing around the walls of our little underwater cave.

Vaguely, I was made aware of Beau's own undoing—a sexy groan releasing from his throat as he trembled between my legs. The entire surface of his skin broke out in goose bumps as he followed me into the pools of bliss.

By the time awareness returned, Beau had pulled me into his arms, coming to rest on his side. He was appraising me with an expression of pure, satisfied ecstasy, and when I opened my eyes into his face, he grinned.

"Hey."

"Hello." I smiled softly, and reached up with a single finger to stroke his perfectly unmarred face. Then I froze, noting just how filthy my hand was, almost entirely up to the elbow. I felt my brow crumple in confusion.

Beau laughed, his voice hoarse with emotion and physical exertion. "Yeah—you kind of burrowed a hole there."

I propped myself up on my elbow, turning to note the two tunnels I'd excavated in the cave wall behind our heads. They were each four inches in diameter, and about half a foot deep—matching the grime on my arms exactly.

I turned to him, and a high note of laughter rose in my throat.

I thought I surprised him when I pushed him onto his back and rolled over onto his chest. I kissed him, feeling giddy and a little light-headed, and then rested my head against his chest, and closed my eyes.

A few minutes later, Beau spoke. "So… Am I in trouble?"

For half a second, I went very still, stunned by the insinuation of his question. To think I'd be angry with him, that he was expecting chastisement from me…? Hadn't I acknowledged my tyrannical ways, and how they never worked in our favor? Hadn't I promised to relinquish my grasp on that way of life? And yet, for how many days now had I been unflinchingly dictatorial, insisting that what I knew was best? Insisting that Beau's suggestions had no way of working?

How audacious I'd been! How shortsighted!

I could see how my oppressive ways may have corrupted his perception, but what had occurred in these last few moments had been more perfect than I could have imagined. I had never been more happy to be wrong in my entire existence!

I turned my head to rest my chin against his sternum, and regarded him with as serious as expression as I could manage. "Heaps," I teased, and then grinned to let him know I was only joking.

But the relief on his face was evident, and I was stabbed with a ferocious pang of guilt for the distress I'd put him through.

"I'm… sorry… I really tried."

I attempted to muffle my laughter, but it escaped in a very unladylike snort.

"I _did_!" he insisted, unable to hold back his own laughter. "I guess I… Well, I thought I had more self-control than that…"

I sighed and smiled softly up at him. "So did I… I suppose we were both proven wrong on that front today."

Beau reached up to stroke the spot between my brows with his fingertip. "Seriously. You're not upset?"

I kissed the bare place over his heart. "You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone _less_ upset than I am right now."

This seemed to please him in no small amount, and he abruptly dragged me up his front so he could kiss me—once again flooding me through with warmth and joy. When he pulled away to catch his breath, I caught just a flicker of remaining guilt in his eyes.

"Beau," I murmured, reaching up to touch his chin, "Why do you look so guilty?"

"Um, maybe because I _feel_ guilty." His face flushed with color, and I traced its path as the blood flush raced along his cheekbones.

"I'm going to miss that," I admitted, sighing as my fingertips warmed under the heat of his skin. Electricity crackled there, where our skin touched, and for a moment, I drowned in the ocean of his eyes—completely content to do so. "Beau, you haven't committed a crime," I continued, realizing I'd found myself distracted. "You enticed your all-too-willing wife." I giggled. "That's not a capital offense."

He snorted, but I could see my teasing had the longed-for effect. His cheeks turned a lovely shade of fuchsia. "I don't… I mean… I think the word _enticed_ is a little… Strong." His voice cracked, and I tilted my head, appraising him adoringly.

"Maybe it is," I conceded, totally beguiled by his endearing discomfiture.

"You're not mad?"

"I'm not mad."

I could see that he was confused, that I still hadn't answered some unspoken question in his steel-vice of a mind.

"It was easier this time," I explained, "to channel the excesses." My eyes flickered to the holes gouged in the cave wall. "And as a result, I didn't hurt you; I don't know what more I could ask for. I swear that's the last time I think my perceptions are higher than yours. You proved me wrong, dear husband of mine. You were right… And you'd better not get used to hearing that, because I doubt I'll say it very often."

He smiled. "Should I expect it in another fifty years or so?"

"Maybe sixty."

We grinned at each other.

.

 **A/N:** So, there we go! Edythe's hesitations and fears have been assuaged! What's next for our young couple?!


	8. Practice

**A/N:** Hi, there, lovely readers! Sorry this one took a little longer. I know it's later in the week AND in the day than I usually post. I had to try really hard to get it up today. I wanted to get it up yesterday, but just didn't make it. I'm still going to try getting two chapters up a week, but it'll either be that or just once—depending on a couple different factors. No longer than once a week though, I promise!

.

"So, we'll probably have to think about leaving soon, hey?" Beau asked a couple of mornings later as he ate his breakfast.

We were sitting in the little nook off the kitchen, and I was watching him eat. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of loose-fitting, airy pajama pants, and I had pulled on a blush pink negligee that didn't make me feel _so_ uncomfortable. Now that I no longer had to worry about inciting his lust unintentionally, I found I actually enjoyed wearing some of the things my sisters had snuck into my luggage. I rather adored the expressions on Beau's face when he saw me in them even more.

"…You know," Beau was continuing, "to make it to Dartmouth on time and everything…? Huh." A small crease formed between his brows. "Guess we'll still have to find a place to live and stuff. Do we have enough time for that?"

I hadn't expected him to bring up the conversation from the other night again—having come to my own conclusions that he'd offered the suggestion as a way of compromising on our physical situation. Now, I couldn't deny the frisson of delight that went through me when I imagined that maybe he _had_ considered it a real possibility. The notion that he would stay human for a little longer—even the length of one short semester—was too good to be true. Now that my hesitation over the risk of our lovemaking had been assuaged, I would be happy to attend to his requests.

But I was not too naïve to think he'd been anywhere near serious when he'd brought this possibility to my attention. To think so was setting myself up for failure. Besides, he didn't owe me any more favors. He'd given me enough blessings by way of his love and devotion to last several lifetimes.

"You can give up the college pretense now," I assured him, folding my legs up underneath me as he took another bite of his omelet. "Your insinuation had its effect—you broke down my defenses." My tone was only teasing, but I had to wonder if this _had_ been his intention the entire time.

Surprising me, Beau rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a pretense—or whatever," he insisted, "Unlike _some people_ "—he narrowed his eyes accusingly at me—"I don't come up with all sorts of plans to get my way. _Hmm, what can we do to wear Beau out today_?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his poor mockery of my voice. That, and I couldn't quite bring myself to believe what he was saying, so there was a note of incredulity to the laughter.

"I meant what I said before," he continued, serious now, "I want a little more time to be human. It might be selfish of me, but I haven't had enough of you yet." He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly burning—their glow made my stomach twist pleasantly—and traced the edge of my cheekbone with his finger. "Is it so unrealistic to want to keep you to myself for a little while longer?"

The tone of his voice was so suggestive, and the course of his fingers so deliciously tempting, that for a moment, I forgot about all obligation, all former conversation, and every speck of my surroundings.

But, of course, the cleaning crew was due any minute, and I could not afford to be distracted right now.

"Haven't had enough of _me_?" I queried, arching a brow at him playfully as I picked up his hand from where it had wandered to the little play of lace between my breasts. "I could have saved myself a lot of arguments, if I'd employed the intimacy card at an earlier date."

Beau laughed, unashamed. "Yeah, probably."

I sighed and rolled my eyes good-humoredly, secretly loving this new, carefree and unrestrained side of my husband. "You are _so_ human."

He reached forward, looping his arms around my waist. "And you love it."

I smiled at his brash smugness—somehow equally as charming as his bouts of gawkiness—and struggled to distract myself as his warm breaths brushed like silken fingers over the swell of my breasts. It would be very difficult to distract him, and myself, if he persevered along this path.

"Dartmouth?" I asked, feelings my lips curl up at the corners in anticipation. "Really? You'll go?"

Beau sighed; something in the note of it sounded resigned and forlorn. "I'll probably fail out in one semester—but sure, why not?"

I felt my grin widen. "I'll tutor you. You're going to love it."

"You tutoring me?" he murmured, shifting closer. "No doubt I'll love it."

My ringing laugh filled the kitchen as he pressed his lips to my throat. "Not _that_. College!"

Beau's lips ascended over my cheek, and he kissed me on the forehead, burying his nose in my hair. "Think we can find an apartment this late in the game?"

And suddenly, I remembered that I had a confession to make. A number of weeks ago, I had come to the conclusion that it would be wise to secure some real estate in the Hanover area just in case. As soon as I'd had the thought, Archie had approached me with the vision—a perfect little picturesque Victorian on a hill. By all means, it was more than we absolutely _needed_ , with four bedrooms, but it was charming, and exactly what I'd pictured for us.

"Well," I admitted now, "We sort of already have a house there… As a provisional measure."

He jerked back to look at me. "You bought a house?" His tone was saturated with disapproval and shock. We'd had many conversations about my family's attitude toward money, and I knew he still wasn't comfortable with it, whether that was due to traditional gender roles or his more conservative upbringing, I didn't know. Regardless, this was something he would just have to get used to. With my family inheritance coming in every fifty years, along with Carine's income and Archie's affinity for investments in the stock market, money was always a secondary thought when it came to any interest of ours. And now that we were married, the money was Beau's, too.

"What's mine is yours," I reminded him, but his scowl only deepened. So I tried a new tactic. "Real estate is a good investment." I reported this tidbit of information with an air of casualty, attempting to downplay the matter.

I rose from the kitchen table and headed for the bedroom to change. In the very far off distance, I could hear a vague humming, and thought it might be our approaching cleaning crew.

Beau lifted a dubious eyebrow at me as he followed, but to my surprise, he didn't push the matter. "So… We're ready, then," he surmised at last.

"I'll have to see if I can keep your 'before' car for a little longer…" I mused as I pulled on some shorts and a camisole.

The Guardian had been one indispensible venture I had not taken lightly. Just weeks after the proposal, Beau's truck had reached its end. Though I knew Beau suspected otherwise, the occurrence had been purely coincidental. But I'd had the special edition European car hiding under a tarp in the garage for weeks already, after Archie had seen a vision of Beau abandoned on the side of the road just outside of town, an alarming quantity of smoke issuing from beneath the ancient truck's faded red hood.

"Yeah," Beau said now, his tone sardonic, "Can't be too careful—you know those rogue vans, lurking around every corner. Good thing I've got hardcore armor on that car." He appraised me knowingly, and I smiled, batting my lashes at him innocently.

I didn't know who had told him, but regardless, he'd been made aware of the car's protective mechanisms. It was supposed to be tank-proof, and still… Somehow, that didn't seem like enough protection for Beau. But it had been the most high-grade car I could find, so it would have to do.

"So," he said now, moving on, "When do we have to get out of here?"

"We have lots of time," I assured him, feeling a little giddy at the thought of _time_. "We could stay for a few more weeks, if you'd like—and then head back to see Charlie before we leave for New Hampshire. We could spend Christmas with Renee…" I couldn't help forming the Norman Rockwell-esque pictures of perfection that bloomed in my mind—pictures I hadn't dared to imagine until now. Things that seemed so normal to any other human of Beau's age, but at once so unattainable for him… Until today.

He wouldn't have to say goodbye to his family so abruptly, he wouldn't have to go through the pain of the separation just yet. It was as if the match we'd metaphorically been holding against one end of the bridge to his family ties had abruptly been extinguished.

The distant hum of the approaching boat grew louder, now. Genoveva and her cleaning companion, no doubt.

Beau had crossed the room to me, and his lips were making a very distracting trail down my throat and across my shoulder. I giggled as I felt his teeth pluck at the thin strap of my tank top, pulling it away from my skin. Without me even being aware of it, he'd revolved us toward the unmade bed.

"So, what I said before…" he was saying, "about the tutoring thing?"

I grinned, and lifted his face to mine, kissing him chastely. "Can you hold on to that thought? I think I hear a boat coming—the cleaning crew must be close. Let me explain the mess in the master suite, and then we can go out. There's a place in the jungle on the south side of the island with an amazing view." The vista overlooking the rocky bluffs had been mesmerizing in the moonlight; I could only imagine just how beautiful it would be in the daytime.

The motorboat's vibrating engine grew louder as the craft drifted closer to the island, as well as the low, sing-song mental voice of a woman. Automatically, I found myself translating her melodic Portuguese thoughts into English as they neared.

 _It was a long trip out, but my was it worth it… To have that sort of money to waste… Deus. I wish I could afford a vacation like this…_

"Do you mind if we just kinda hang out today? We could play a game, or maybe watch a movie…?"

"Of course, whatever you'd like." Now that I no longer had to worry about keeping our minds and hands preoccupied, sitting in the cool living room cuddled up with my husband sounded like the perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Outside, the two humans had docked the boat and were shuffling up the sandy path toward the door.

"Why don't you go select a movie while I get the door?" I suggested.

He appraised me for a moment, bewildered. "I didn't hear a knock."

I tilted my head to the side as their footsteps crossed the front porch. A moment later, Genoveva reached up to rap on the door. Her knock was timid and cautious.

I grinned smugly at Beau, and turned toward the door.

 _I hope we're not intruding…_ Genoveva worried.

The man's thoughts were filled with worry and a contradicting sort of resoluteness. He didn't understand the frivolous lifestyle of Americans, but he was firm on providing for his family, and doing whatever measures it took to succeed at that venture.

 _Such folly to waste one's savings on something like this… These crazy Americans and their flippant ways… No matter; it's not up to me what they do with their time._

When I opened the door, I was careful to stay well in the shade, thankful for the yawning eave my parents had installed. My skin held only a subtle glow in the diffuse lighting.

I greeted them in fluent Portuguese, which surprised them. They had not been expecting a young American girl to be so well-versed in her foreign languages.

Genoveva was a short and bony woman, with coffee-colored skin, drooped and folded with age and sun exposure. Her hair, which she had wreathed on top of her head in a smart-looking bun, was raven black, but streaked with strands of silver. Her eyes, dark as well, were friendly and held the obviousness of years past in good company.

The man, a foot behind her, was tall, and more muscled than the woman. Their complexions and hair color were similar, though the man possessed far less of it than the woman. His eyes lacked much of the friendliness the woman's had conveyed, and he regarded me suspiciously. His thick brows drew together over his eyes, and I could see myself from his perspective: Petite and inhumanly graceful, even as I stood still in the small bungalow's foyer. Skin the color of porcelain, and eyes the color of burnished amber, darkening from butterscotch as the days wore on—I would need to hunt soon. My hair hung loose over my shoulders, tousled from the sea salt and the morning spent in bed with Beau. He regarded the full, pink shape of my lips, and the hard curves of my body. Before he was finished with his assessment, the words of wariness were already hissing guardedly through his mind.

 _Sucubo…. Demonio… Libishomae…!_

The ancient legends and stories surfaced in his mind immediately—and I could see how much conviction he regarded these stories with. Some of them true, some of them disturbingly convoluted. The man, Kaur, was part Ticuna Indian, and he'd been raised to believe in the stories of his ancestors. Genoveva had not been brought up in this way, and she held little regard for her husband's superstitious ways. She saw the way he was regarding me now and _tsk_ ed at him.

"Deixe os pobres recém-casados sozinhos," she hissed at him as I gestured them politely inside.

Kaur regained his composure quickly, with a tinge of mortification. Though he believed in some legends less than the others, he was still intuitively aware that I was different. To what extent, he did not know, but his uncertainties remained as I led them through the house, pointing out the tasks that were to be performed in each respective room. When we reached the main room, Beau turned to greet us, holding a DVD case in his right hand. On the other, his wedding band glinted, and I was inundated by a wave of pride. He'd pulled on a plain white t-shirt while I'd been at the door, and his hair was messy, trademark rooster tail dominating the back of his head.

I introduced them, and Genoveva smiled politely at him. Her memories took on a nostalgic glow as she remembered herself and her husband in their youth.

In contrast, Kaur's thoughts suddenly darkened, shaded with varying vibrancies of red, black and white. The first image, clear as day in his mind, was an image of Beau's gray, lifeless corpse in my arms, my lips dripping with blood. The other succeeding images were a cacophony of equal horror and gore. Unintentionally, I flinched away from the still-frames in the man's mind, much of them far too similar to the circumstances Julie had imagined at the wedding, and ushered the two down the hall.

In cases like these, it was best to disregard such reactions with an air of casualness. Oftentimes, human mistrust gave way to chagrin—if our acting was thorough enough. But I was afraid Kaur would be made even more suspicious by the wide-eyed shock on Beau's face as he witnessed the tall, dark man recoil with his own horror. In time, Beau would learn to adopt the same off-the-cuff affect as the rest of us had been required to learn.

I explained the mess in the bridal suite as succinctly and as casually as I could. Seeing the mess, Kaur's thoughts jumped with horrified realization, and again, I ignored him to the best of my abilities. His thoughts were a whir of concern and fear—and though I would have appreciated his caring attitude toward my husband in any other light, I did not welcome it now.

I left them to their duties, and returned eagerly to Beau, who was waiting for me on the cream loveseat. Upon my return, he wrapped me in his arms, and I sighed in grateful appreciation for his sweet warmth that enveloped me with an immediacy and a strength I treasured.

"What was with him?" Beau asked anxiously, his gaze flickering past my head and down the hall.

I lifted my shoulders and let them fall as I curled up next to him. "Kaur is part Ticuna Indian. He was raised to be more suspicious—or more _aware_ , I suppose—than those who live in the modern world. He suspects what I am, or close enough. They have their own legends here. The _Libishomae_ —a blood-drinking demon, taking the form of a beautiful woman, who preys only on the most attractive of men." I grinned at him, taking a moment to traverse the beauty of his face and body.

"He looked… Kinda terrified."

"He is," I assured him, "But mostly he's concerned for you."

"Me?" A crack forced its way into his tone, caught off guard as he was. It was clear, by the discontentment in his eyes, that my cavalier speech had done nothing to mollify him.

"He's suspicious about why I have you here… All alone," I purred, running my hands over the planes of his chest and up to his shoulders. I giggled softly, knowing the man's suspicions and my intentions were far from similar. But I was digressing. And if I didn't retain my focus, our guests would soon be very disturbed. "Oh well. Did you select something for us to watch?"

But the presence of our guests was soon forgotten when I felt Beau's lips touch the edge of my face. He lifted his hands to incline my lips toward his, and then pressed his mouth to mine. His left fingers tunneled into my loose hair, and the other flattened against my back, holding me against him.

Abruptly, my attentions were scattered by his affections—and I forgot all about the couple in the other room. I drank in the taste of his lips, hungry for more as I trailed mine across the firm line of his jaw, and then down the succulent column of his flawless throat. I pressed my tongue against the throbbing artery in his throat—and the thirst popped and sizzled, scalding the back of my throat. It was a very small price for the significance of the reward.

I was hardly aware of how I'd curled myself around the forgiving shape of his body until I heard the sharp intake of air from across the room. Kaur's thoughts were rife with horror and shock, as he stood frozen in the mouth of the hallway. The same visions from before flickered at a rapid pace through his mind, and I lifted my head abruptly, turning toward where he stood with a sack of feathers fisted in his hand.

His wide eyes flashed between my face and Beau's—and mortification quickly replaced the shock in his mind as he took in my husband's expression of discomfiture, and his flushed cheeks.

"My apologies," Kaur murmured in his native tongue, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

I smiled politely at him. His embarrassment and the modern inclinations of the world were surely winning out over the stories he'd been told in his childhood, and this made my attitude lighter. "No need to apologize," I assured him in the same language, "It is us who should have been more careful. We're not used to having guests present, and I suppose we remain very absorbed in the newness of our marriage."

Kaur nodded, still embarrassed, and continued on his way.

"He was thinking what I think he was thinking, wasn't he?" Beau murmured when he was gone.

Beau's tangled sentence struck me as amusing, and I laughed. "Yes." I noted the DVD he'd left on the coffee table in front of us and leaned forward to pluck it up, trying to ignore the warm hand that was on my back, drifting lower as I stretched forward. I held the movie up. "This is the one you picked?"

He nodded.

"Very honeymoonish," I approved, noting the smiling faces and elaborate gowns.

Beau smiled. "I thought so."

I stood, feeling Beau's eyes on me as I set the movie up. I quite enjoyed the way his breath caught and his heart hiccupped as I leaned this way and that.

"Is there something the matter with your heart?" I teased as I inserted the disc into the player.

"Nope," he claimed, "Healthy as a horse."

Smiling, I pressed play, and walked back over to the couch where he was waiting for me, reclined with open arms. As I snuggled up next to him, basking in the warmth of his skin, I almost decided that we didn't really _need_ a clean house after all…

Beau's scent was woven through every strand of my hair, every fiber of my clothes, and where his bare legs pressed against mine, the electrical current was at its most intense.

One of his arms was wrapped across my shoulders from underneath, his fingers cradling the bicep of my top arm, and he was continuously running the tips of his fingers up and down the exposed skin of my bare thigh.

I could hardly concentrate on the flickering black and white images across the screen. I could not hear the soundtrack; it was entirely drowned out by the racing of Beau's heart, and the pulse of life force through his arteries.

I was completely inundated by the shape of his body, curled around mine, the brush of his soft hair against my cheek, and the feel of his hands on me.

It was a very long couple of hours as we both struggled to pay attention to the movie while we waited for Genoveva and Kaur to be finished. They moved quietly through the house, resolved not to disturb us again, as they cleaned and tidied, and then brought a new stock of groceries in from the ice box on the boat.

By the time they'd finally finished and departed, it was past lunchtime. But when I suggested making Beau something, he declined.

"I'm not hungry," he insisted, touching his lips to the corner of mine.

"It's been four hours—"

"Not for food," he continued lowly. I felt his fingers drift toward the hem of my shirt, easing underneath to stroke the skin above the waistband of my denim shorts.

I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggled to focus through the sudden haze. I knew there was something I was supposed to be arguing here, but it was suddenly very difficult to remember.

Then his mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair, and I didn't really _want_ to fight.

"After," I murmured against his lips, and melted against his chest.

The last couple of days had been spent more or less hopping from the bed to the shower to the kitchen, to look after Beau's various points of need. Now that all hesitation in the face of our lovemaking had been vanquished, there was nowhere else we really needed to be.

We'd explored most of the island in the first week of our honeymoon, and knowing that we'd seen almost all there was to see, coupled with the strength of our desire for one another, gave us rudimentary sanction to stay in bed most of the day.

In no time at all, we sank into the sky blue sheets together, and I was surprised by the intensity of my need. I didn't know why I kept expecting the fire to wane after time—but it never failed to take me by surprise when it only continued to build.

As the same as the first time, I drank in the perfection of his face and body, the quality of his skin, effervescent in the afternoon sunlight that sunk through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom.

I took care, this time, to remove the fragile garments that covered his body without tearing them. Beau did not hesitate to wrench the button and zipper aside and pull my shorts from my legs, and then yanked the camisole over my head.

In a matter of moments, the both of us were bare, and we collapsed into each other's arms, sighing as our lips melded again.

Because of the copious amount of 'practice' I'd undergone in the last few days, it was an almost easy thing to orchestrate the pressure of my hands against him, and the speed of my movements. Beau, after all, had not allowed me to give up at the first sign of failure, and I was glad now that he'd pushed me to pursue the course of our passions.

Anytime our bodies collided, I was aware of each trajectory, each unison, with the most supreme of cognizance. And as Beau's lips traced intricate patterns of worship and adoration across my skin, and mine across his, I was overcome by a supreme sensation of _right_ ness. This was right—us, together, and I remembered the words Beau had whispered to me in the ocean that first night.

 _We're right, if we're together…_

How had I survived without him? How had I fared—by any means?

And dovetailing from the firm concrete _right_ ness was a stunning blast of gratitude and ardor. If I could have summoned tears, I would have, as I wrapped my arms around Beau's neck and pressed my front to his.

"I love you," I whispered against his mouth as I rolled on top of him, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Beau pushed his hands through my hair, and put half an inch of space between us so he could stare into my eyes.

"That's why we're here."

I blinked slowly, as if I could engrave the snapshot of his expression in my memory, and lowered my lips to his again.

There was no hesitation to our graceful cleaving this afternoon, but nevertheless, we took our time. The sun skiffed its way across the sky as we learned the responses and nuances of each other's bodies—as we practiced eliciting the most concentrated of pleasures in each other.

I couldn't have imagined a greater pleasure than the mind-numbing storm that engulfed my body the first time he brought me to the precipice of ecstasy and then tilted me over the edge. But the pleasure only built, again and again, as the afternoon wore on—consuming me completely in its blissful, ringing arpeggio.

.

 **A/N:** I'm loving this honeymoon bit, but I'm also very excited to get Beau and Edythe back home, and clue you all in on how the plotline will develop from there! And the nature of Beau's change. I think we can all safely say you won't see it coming ;) None of you have guessed it yet.

Also, I'm currently at work on another project—a prelude to the series of sorts, and I'm sooo excited to share it with you guys! I just have to flesh out the plotline a little more and get my early twentieth century details straight ;) That being said, I'm pretty sure I just gave the whole premise away right then. Haha! Oops!

Anywho, let me know what you thought of this addition, and I'll see you all next time! xo


	9. Susceptibility

**A/N:** So _so_ sorry this one took so long, guys. I have a good direction for where the story's going and how it'll pan out, but this in-between, transition piece has had me a little stuck. But we're past it now, so yay!

 **.**

"It looks like the bed might have suffered a… Uh, mishap," Beau murmured some time later.

I hummed without opening my eyes, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest underneath mine, the way my own chest rose and fell in time with his, mimicking the motion of breathing. Never before would I have thought I would feel this human again—but with Beau, I was living an entirely new life.

Finally, I lifted my head from his shoulder to look at him, filled immediately with amusement. I reached up to run my fingers through his wood pulp-dusted hair and grinned. Beyond him, the headboard had been crushed and dented, the shape of my fingers conspicuously notched in the wood.

"It looks like I'll owe Earnest a new bedframe," I agreed sheepishly.

Beau laughed and smoothed his hands down my back and over the subtle curves of my waist and hips, eliciting a series of shivers. As far as sexual drives went, ours were severely outweighed. Where Beau needed time to recover with rest, nourishment and not to mention the ever-present male refractory period, none of that applied to me. Not only did I have no need for any sort of break or refueling requirements, but despite the new parameters of our physical relationship, I constantly had to restrain my wild desires. While part of me was completely engrossed in the pleasurable sensations brought on by our lovemaking, another part of me was always carefully measuring every caress, every touch, every union. Part of me remained tightly coiled, knowing I could not completely give myself over to the urges—not until Beau was truly indestructible.

However, this was small change compared to the reality of our situation. I was far happier than I ever could have imagined being. Bliss didn't cover the range of my emotions. I was beyond bliss, beyond perfection. The bounds of our love had reached far higher precedents than I ever could have imagined possible. Not only had we discovered the ability to make love, but Beau had expressed a desire to remain human—something I'd wanted for so long, had strived to convince him of for weeks, months on end, to—what I thought—was no avail. Now, he was voicing desires to not only stay human, but experience college as well, another thing I never would have thought possible. There was nothing more I could have asked for.

Now, I gazed into the endless aquamarine of his eyes, and ran a finger down the edge his face. "Hungry?" I had not forgotten the rain check we'd taken on lunch.

"Ravished," he admitted, grinning.

I admired the pearly, straight rows of his teeth, and the indent in his chin elicited by his smile, before shifting off him and into a seated position.

"But maybe, first…" He hesitated.

"What is it?"

"A shower?" He gestured to my head, which I imagined was dredged in a fine layer of sawdust, like his.

I let my lips part in a wide grin, and reached up to fluff my hair, effectively dislodging the majority of the offending particles. "All better," I chirped.

Beau playfully pursed his lips, hands laced behind his neck where he was reclined against the pillows. "Are you saying you don't want to shower with me?"

I laughed and rose to my feet, heading toward the bathroom. "I _never_ said that."

A moment later, Beau was on his feet.

.

The next few days passed in much the same way the former few had. It became apparent that I would need to hunt soon.

I came nowhere close to risking Beau's safety, but the burn in my throat was reaching unmanageable proportions, and when it came to being as close to him as required to make love, it became altogether intolerable.

So on the tenth night of our honeymoon, I lingered by the bed, watching Beau sleep.

 _This is for his safety,_ I reminded myself, finding it difficult to convince myself to leave. _It will take but a few hours. You'll be back by sunrise._

Still, instead of turning away from my slumbering husband, I stepped forward instead, reaching out to stroke his beautiful face, peaceful in unconsciousness.

He muttered a string of intelligible words interspersed with my name, but did not wake.

My stomach twisted into knots of anxiety, thinking about leaving him here, unprotected. But if I left now, he would never even know I'd been gone… Still. Just in case, I penned a short note in the kitchen, and then returned to lay it on my pillow next to him. He'd turned over in his sleep, and the waxing crescent of the moon pierced the gauzy curtains, illuminating the finely woven muscles in his back and shoulders.

I stood for just one more minute, and leaned forward to brush my lips across his slightly flushed cheek before forcing myself to turn and stride from the room.

My throat felt tight and my stomach was snarled in knots as I headed down the silvered sandy path toward the boat dock. Knowing the sooner I left, the sooner I could be back, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand as I prepared the boat for departure, and set out across the indigo ocean.

The waters were calm, the skies overhead clear and blooming with far-off stars and the dim silhouettes of the distant planets. I felt the ocean mist ruffle my hair and wash across my cheeks and shoulders as I soared across the minimal waves toward the mainland.

I reached land within two hours, as fast I had been traveling, at over seventy knots. I'd put forth less restraint than usual without Beau aboard. It was dark in Rio, which allowed me to anchor my boat and slip, undetected, away from civilization and into the bordering jungle foliage.

The thick, sweet scent of humans carpeted the paths a few hundred meters into the forest—but I left it behind soon enough. Even two years ago, I never would have entertained the thought of hunting so close to a city of such magnified population, but since meeting Beau and learning the extent of my discipline and ambition, this was a new ability I was glad for.

I memorized the different paths I came across, knowing my brothers and sisters would be eager to know what sort of varying fare I'd tasted during my travels—after they were finished with humiliating me over the presence of my new love life, of course. I could almost hear Eleanor's innuendos in my head now, and the thought brought an amused smile to my lips as I ran. I had only been gone for a week and a half, and I already missed her quips and playful jibes.

Very briefly, I remembered the last time I'd been apart from her longer than a couple of nights. The extent of that separation had gone on far longer than this one, and due to much darker ambition… This time, I would return to my family whole, happy and well, with Beau forever at my side.

Exhilaration lightened my steps as I flew over flower and foliage, automatically filtering through the notes of earth and shrubbery and the copious wildlife, for something I might fancy.

Along with the menagerie of aromas, I was also bombarded by a plethora of sounds: the unceasing buzz of mosquitos and other small insects, the rush of a trickling stream to the northwest, the scratch of bird claws against branches high above, and the skirmish of small creatures underfoot.

Just then, through the surfeit, a muskier, heavier scent caught my attention. My body drifted unconsciously, ghostlike, toward the east in the source of its direction. Of its own volition, my form slumped closer to the ground, gliding along in a hunter's crouch.

The animal's scent reminded me of a mountain lion, but this scent was more potent, with a tangier undertone.

I had allowed my thirst to go unanswered for so long that conscious thought was soon lost on me. I was in the trees—inflexible, twisted boughs that were foreign and unfamiliar compared to the evenly spaced, springy spurs of Washington—before even a frisson of clarity returned.

I was aware enough to recognize my target as a sleek-coated black panther, beautiful and lazy, lounging on a wide branch, before I sunk my teeth through its silky fur and flesh and lost myself once more.

The hot, ichorous fluid washed down my throat in thick waves, extinguishing the fire. But the relief didn't last long when, too soon, the body was empty. I cast it aside impatiently, casting out grudgingly for another scent—knowing dessert had little chance of being as sumptuous as my dinner had been.

I came across a small herd of animals I'd never seen before—an odd hybrid between a goat-type creature and a small variety of deer. Their blood was not as palatable as the panther's had been, but it sated my thirst and cooled the fire in my throat.

I finished quickly and disposed of the carcasses hastily, eager to be back with Beau, but the return journey was much slower than I had anticipated. The wind had kicked up waves over twelve feet high. I regretted not having just swum the channel between, as I was forced to slow the craft, knowing if I pushed it too hard I risked damaging the hull beyond repair.

When I finally docked the small speedboat, the sun was bright and high overhead, the air thick with midday humidity. Though my venture to the mainland had taken all of two hours, my return trip had been more than double that. The sound of Beau's heartbeat immediately reached my ears as I cut the engine, and I drifted along the sandy path toward it, drawn by the ever-present gravitational pull he possessed.

However, upon entering the bungalow, I was met with a disturbing scene. All of the windows were tightly shut, the curtains drawn tight. Though the entire front room was cast in shadow, the atmosphere was still stifling. The breeze that was distinguishable was minimal, and much too balmy to offer my human husband any respite.

He lay across the cream colored couch across the room, flushed and perspiring, clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. His hair was plastered to his temples with sweat, and despite the stifling heat of the house, he was alarmingly pale.

I went to him quickly, laying one palm against his face, curling the other around the nape of his neck. I hoped the cool temperature of my skin would soothe his discomfort.

"I'm sorry," I murmured to him, curling against his chest, "I didn't think how hot you'd be without me here. I'll have an air conditioner installed before I leave next time."

If Beau heard my words, he didn't do much to register them. Though I knew he was awake, he didn't open his eyes. In the next moment, I realized he felt much warmer to the touch than was normal, even in this particular circumstance.

Then he groaned, and one of his hands flew up to the side of his head, long fingers tangling in his damp hair. His face was creased in an agonizing expression, and his body was practically shaking with pain.

"Beau?" My voice escaped my throat in a tight, high note, and he flinched. "What's wrong?"

"S'nothing," he barely whispered, "Just a headache."

"You feel feverish," I reported, launching immediately into a role I was steadily becoming familiar with: Caretaker. In the next instant, I rose from the couch, and headed for the kitchen. "Have you been drinking enough?"

Beau didn't answer me, and I moved through the motion of retrieving him a glass of ice water as I ran through the possibilities in my head. It could be _anything_. An infection, heat exhaustion, a virus… Meningitis, encephalitis, a blood clot…

I tried to calm my racing thoughts as I made my way back over to the couch, knowing my anxiety would only make things worse, and knelt by his side.

"Why don't you sit up, and have something to drink? Are you nauseous?"

"Can't," he whispered, his forehead creasing. "Please, whisper."

"Do you have sensitivity to sound?" I breathed, laying my hand across his clammy forehead again.

He lifted his chin half an inch, in what I thought was an assenting nod.

"And light?"

"Yeah."

My brain was spinning in answerless, chaotic circles. As I'd been reminded of so many times before, I realized again that humans were just so _fragile_! How was I supposed to do this without going crazy? I stared at the parquet floor, thinking hard over his symptoms, and running through every sort of knowledge books had given me over the years.

But it was all made so entirely _useless_ in the absence of hands-on familiarity! It was incredibly frustrating!

Beau was taking deep breaths now, and his face had lost even more color—impossibly.

My heart twisted, seeing him suffering—and not knowing what to do.

"Are you nauseous?" I whispered.

"Mmm."

"Do you need—?"

But in the next instant, he'd lurched from the couch, flying across the room, one hand clutching his head, the other on his stomach. I shadowed his footsteps automatically, the panic escalating.

This vulnerable, entirely helpless sensation nearly crippled me as I followed Beau into the bathroom, where he crouched over the toilet and was horribly sick. The rhythm of my hand on his back was too quick to be comforting, I knew. This symptom had added another ten items to my list of possible afflictions, and I rifled through them obsessively—thinking of the worst scenarios first, of course.

We were at least two hours from land, probably much longer with the strength of the wind buffeting the ocean waves. How quickly would I be able to get him to a doctor? What if he became emergent?

Beau's shoulders slumped as the retching subsided, and he leant his head against the rim of the bathtub, struggling to catch his breath. Tears shimmered, crystalline, on the tips of his thick lashes, and his face was sheathed in a fresh layer of perspiration.

I waited for him to speak, rigid with tension. I felt very bereft, not knowing what to do, or how to help. I watched his hands quiver, and his shoulders rise and fall, and I could remain silent no longer—feeling like I might explode.

"Beau? What's happening?"

It was the furthest thing from helpful to say, and I knew that. But Beau, after all, was human, and there was the very likely possibility that he would know more about this kind of thing than I invariably did. I knew symptoms, and phrases and terms—but I knew nothing of the semantics of human illness and affliction.

For all I knew, this could simply be a case of the stomach flu—which I knew, though unpleasant, was hardly a death sentence.

"Just a headache," he repeated, his brow wrinkled with tension.

A headache that caused him a great deal of agony—enough to make him shy away from sound and light; enough to bring him to his knees in front of the toilet bowl...

"This doesn't seem normal," I worried, unable to stop myself. "Has this happened before?"

"No," he admitted, and opened one eye a fraction of a slit to look at me.

"I'll get you some Tylenol." I started to get up, but he interrupted me.

"Already took some. Can't take more till two."

I glanced at the clock on the bathroom counter. That was still two hours away. The medication should have taken effect by now. I turned back to where he was still slumped against the bathtub, and knelt down to feel his forehead again. He was definitely warmer than usual, but again—I wasn't _experienced_ enough to know whether he had a fever or not. The frustration and anxiety rose inside me anew.

I managed to coax him into bed, and brought him the water I'd left on the coffee table in the front room. He took a sip, and then burrowed into the pillows, pulling the other one over his eyes.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him anxiously.

"It's probably just heat exhaustion," he assured me, and I wanted to laugh. As miserable as he was feeling, he felt the need to comfort _me_!

Considering it the most likely culprit, I stayed by his side for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, coaxing him to take small sips of water every few minutes, when he was awake. He wasn't interested in eating, insisting he felt too nauseous, and slept on and off for the next several hours.

When he'd been sleeping for more than three hours—a longer stretch than any insofar, I slipped away to make a call to Carine.

Every inch of my body felt stiff with anxiety, and even though I more or less trusted Beau's self-diagnosis of heat exhaustion, I wanted to consult with my mother to ensure further treatment was not required. I took the cell phone out onto the front porch. The island around me was shrouded in navy and indigo shadows, the sky a sheet of twinkling diamonds overhead.

Reflexively, I dialed the required number and held the device to my ear, keeping one ear tuned in on where Beau was sleeping in the back bedroom.

"Edythe?" my mother answered on the first ring, and her voice was frantic. Of course. It occurred to me, suddenly, that very few daughters made phone calls to their mothers on their honeymoons. Certainly, she would think the worst. Somehow, her anxiety made my own increase. "Edythe, what's the matter?"

"I didn't…" I began.

"Where is Beau? Is he okay?" The frantic panic was fading from her voice, replaced with the assured level-headedness her profession required.

"He's sleeping," I said, gathering myself, "But I think he might be sick."

"How do you mean?"

"I returned from hunting this morning to find him… In agony. And then he was throwing up, and… And he's just in so much pain, and I don't know what to do. He says it's just a headache, but he felt feverish to me, except I don't know for certain, and my mind is conjuring all of these horrendous possibilities and I have no experience in this area of things, and I'm _trying_ to trust him on this, Mom, I am, but I'm really worried about him…"

Something akin to humor was present in my mother's voice now, and all trace of panic was gone. "What are his symptoms, Edythe?"

"Well, the headache… Or a migraine, it seems more like. He has sensitivity to light and sound, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, weakness… And as I said before, I suspect he has a fever."

Carine deliberated. "I can't tell you for certain, because I'm not there to examine him myself. But heat exhaustion is certainly what it _sounds_ like. And if so, there's no need to be concerned. Ensure that he remains hydrated and rests, and he should be right as rain in a day or two. But if he complains of neck stiffness or his temperature increases without relief, I would take him to see a doctor… But, Edythe. You'll see that human maladies are par for the course in a regular human life. They are surprisingly resilient, as I'm sure you know—of Beau especially."

"That makes me feel better," I admitted.

"If you can find a thermometer, I would confirm he actually does have a fever. Without real experience, it is difficult to discern simply by touch. Especially with our difference in temperature. But I'm sure you're familiar enough with his everyday fluctuations that your suspicions are grounded in some sort of substantiation. Still—I wouldn't be a very good doctor if I didn't ensure adequate coverage." She gave a short chuckle.

I allowed myself a soft smile, feeling the relief as a palpable force—like a weight lifting from my chest, letting me breathe again. It didn't make watching Beau suffer any easier, but to be aware that my mother didn't believe his condition to be life-threatening was countless assurance.

Sure enough, by the next morning, Beau's pain had diminished significantly, and he was no longer hot to the touch, which I could only take to reason that his fever had broken. We remained inside most of the day, watching movies, playing games, and of course, hydrating the human. By mid-afternoon, Beau seemed perfectly back to normal.

We made use of the enormous Jacuzzi tub in the master en suite, and then took a walk on the beach when the sun had begun to set and the air had turned cooler than its typical swelter.

"I think we can say we've ticked off every rite of the newlywed honeymoon," I mused as we made tracks in the damp sand with our bare feet. The evening breeze played in the strands of my still-damp hair, throwing it around my shoulders and face. The horizon was aflame with a stunning crimson sunset, tingeing the shards coming off my skin the color of rubies.

"I don't think many couples can say they've honeymooned on a private island," Beau agreed, and there was an undertone of displeasure in his tone. Sure enough, when I glanced up into his face, I could see the reservation in his eyes. I knew enough of his protesting in the past to suspect that, as much as he appreciated the gesture, he thought my parents had gone too far by extending the act of lending us the isle.

"We'll get them a really good Christmas present," I quipped, grinning as I squeezed his hand.

He sighed, and gave me a sardonic half-smile. "I'll say."

"You have plenty of time to grow accustomed to their selfless gestures," I teased him.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"We've been over this and over this," I reminded him, "Thanks to Carine's successful career, and Archie's keenness for the stock markets, we have more money than we know what to do with… There's only so much we can give to charity. The rest we, regrettably, are forced to spend on ourselves. And because what's mine is yours…" I trailed off suggestively, grinning.

Beau stared out over the water contemplatively, the gilded evening light making his skin glow and his eyes shine. The contrast between his affect today and yesterday was almost unbelievable.

"How are you feeling?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Fine," he assured me. "I'm sure it was just heat exhaustion or dehydration or something." He continued to look out over the water, and I thought there was maybe something off in the cadence of his phrase, but I decided not to push it.

We only had so much time left to ourselves before we were back with family. I slid my other arm around his waist, and snuggled into the warmth of my new husband's side, grateful for resiliency, fortitude and the unwavering strength of a human determined to live.

.

 **A/N:** I would have combined the next chapter in with this one, but it just wouldn't have flowed right… But rest assured, you won't have to wait as long for the next one. Again, I'm so sorry for the huge delay! But I have to justify it by stating that I'm not going to half-ass a project because I'm late getting a chapter out. If I'm not motivated and inspired, it's not going to come out well, and it just wouldn't be good for any of us. So thank you for your patience, all, and I promise I won't keep you waiting so long again!

Some of you were asking if this one was going to be as long as the original BD, and the answer is: probably not. I'm not as, let's say… palaverous as SM, so unfortunately, you'll have to expect some more succinct chapters.

Some of you were ALSO asking if I'm going to include Julie's perspective, and the answer is: unfortunately not. Though I'm totally open to exploring her perspective down the road, right now, I'm choosing to focus on Edythe's side of the story.

Annnd I guess that's all for now! I'd like to know what you thought of this one, guys. Let me know!

As always, so much love to you all, and I'll see you again very soon! xo


	10. Homecoming

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Hope you all had a great weekend. I live in Canada, so it was a long weekend for us. Just got back from a good few days of camping, feeling refreshed and excited to share this next chapter with you all! Enjoy :)

.

My heart felt light with carefree liberation, and the anticipation of being back with my family again as a newly married woman. Beau and I walked hand-in-hand down the Hartsfield-Jackson concourse, happy to walk along in silence.

I noted that my husband was much more alert on our return trip, as our flight out of Rio had taken place early in the morning, after a full night's rest. We were making our connection now, in Atlanta, and so far, everything had gone along very smoothly.

Off to the side, a father was berating his teenage daughter for running off at the last minute.

 _Didn't know where she was… Could have been snatched right out of thin air… Carol would have had a stroke… We have enough animosity as is, with the court date looming… She'd probably blame me for kidnapping or some other ludicrous idea…_

The teenage girl had her arms folded over her chest, rolling her eyes huffily. It was clear she had no comprehension of her father's worry, and was only eager to plug back into her iPod and shut her father's jabber out during the flight.

 _Why do I have to come and see him_ _ **every summer**_ _?_ she complained silently to herself. _Yet another month of being holed up in his stupid modern beach castle while he goes off and works till all hours of the night… Out partying with his buddies… Didn't even spend any time with me. No wonder Mom had an affair… And now he has to escort me back to Mom like I'm eight years old or something? C'mon…_

Behind us, a screaming toddler struggled in his mother's arms.

 _Oh, I hope that Benadryl kicks in soon… If he would just give in, he'd nap through the entire flight… Hope nobody's in the seat beside us. I just_ _ **know**_ _I'll be getting death glares the entire time if he keeps this up… Don't they know I'm just as embarrassed as they are annoyed…? Oh—wait. Did he just fill his diaper? No, Lord, not know! We're just about to board!_

Ahead of us, a group of girls were ushered through the aircraft doors, giggling a little too loudly. The vague, discombobulating tenor of their thoughts elicited the suspicion they'd had just a few too many pre-flight cocktails.

As always, the mind closest to me was entirely silent—and so, when I glanced over to find him watching me, it took me entirely by surprise. Beau, with his eyes shining with a peace and tranquility that made my heart soar, smiled down at me.

"What is it?" I asked, made suddenly self-conscious by his unexpected undivided attention.

He smoothed his thumb over the back of my hand. "Just admiring," he assured me.

I felt the bashful smile pull the corners of my lips up as I appraised his expression—void entirely of tension or concern. His skin glowed healthily, his thick hair gleamed lustrously. I'd never seen him look any better, or anymore free of worry. This vacation had benefited him enormously, and for once, it was easy to discern what he must be thinking.

The flight attendant greeted us at the door, and Beau sighed in satisfaction as we settled into our plush, leather seats in first class.

As the cabin filled around us and the attendants readied the aircraft for takeoff, I took a moment to admire the man sitting beside me.

To think, merely two years ago I had cursed his existence—that I had _hated_ him, never to suspect what would have become of the two of us, never able to imagine what was waiting in the wings… For so long I'd lived my life in a sort of self-imposed exile, believing all along that I was cursed, banished to an eternal life of half-existence, of purgatory.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined _this_. Finding Beau, after all my years of isolation, had tilted my world on its axis. All along I'd believed I'd been seeing my life through the perfect, unmarred vision of my supernatural senses, and all along I'd been _blind_. Blind to the pleasures that awaited me. Blind to the monumental shift in emotion and essential makeup I'd always possessed. For decades I'd believed I'd never change again, that I would be the me I always had been and nothing more…

But on a dreary winter night, Beau had spoken my name in his sleep… And while at first I'd believed him to be having a nightmare, the suspicion had been undeniably quashed in the face of his next uttered words… _Don't go. Stay_ …

In his sleep, he'd asked me not to leave, and as much as I'd already been struggling to convince myself to do just that, aware that I was entirely too fascinated by the innately _good_ human boy with the bright blue eyes, the decision had been made for me in that very moment.

Whatever he asked of me, I'd do it. Whatever he needed of me, I'd give it. Wherever he wanted me, I'd be there.

What had unfolded in the next eighteen months had been a series of unimaginable events—some traumatizing and heart wrenching, and others entirely astonishing.

Never in a million years would I have entertained the idea that I would be where I was today… Next to my human husband, as happy as a forever-seventeen girl could _possibly_ be, on our way home to prepare for college—dreaming of career options and life ventures I'd never before allowed myself to contemplate.

Not only had Beau brought me undeniable purpose, immeasurable happiness, and unmatched peace… But he'd given me bravery, courage and ambition as well. I'd limited myself for so long, for fear of the unknown, for fear of not being strong enough. But Beau had helped me prove that I _was_ strong enough, that I _could_ do the things I had always thought I would never be able to.

And what better person to spend the remainder of existence with, than one who not only loved you deeply, irrevocably and irreconcilably, but a person who also nudged you out of the, if not comfortable, then at least familiar box you'd lived in all your life, and helped you realize a whole new world of possibilities… I could think of no better person to spend forever with than Beau Swan. Young, selfless, good, insightful Beau Swan…

To think I'd once thought of him as plain and uninteresting… How very _wrong_ I had been!

Now, I turned my attention back to the beautiful human man sitting beside me as he leaned forward to pull the complementary magazine from the seat pocket in front of him. I sat curled in my seat, content to watch him thumb through the pages idly, the tracking pattern of his eyes telling me he wasn't really reading, just looking.

How _new_ everything seemed to me now, though I'd seen most of it before—if not through experience, then second-hand through the thoughts and memories of so many others… A simple fight from Atlanta, Georgia to Seattle, Washington for example… How mundane, you would think. But not with Beau at my side. Not with so much time to simply sit and admire his flawless countenance, his angelic smiles, and the searing expression in his vibrant cobalt eyes.

A long wait in a line for Customs, you would also assume mundane and tiresome. But not with the warmth of Beau's palm against mine, not with the rhythm of his heart and lungs between us, not with the potential of _life_ before us.

Part of me wondered now, how it could be: Beginning a life at, for all intents and purposes, a-hundred-and-five years old? One could speculate, or perhaps, recoil, at the insinuation behind it all. The depravity, the disturbing impossible reality of it all. Or, like me, one could marvel at the miracle behind it. That one boy had changed everything for me.

The instant I'd realized I was in love with Beau, every facet in my perception of the world changed. From the way I saw the big things, to the way I viewed the seemingly little things, none of it was the same—none of it was how it had been. And I supposed I had to wonder, with my liberal discerning faculties, why I hadn't realized any of this until now… Except that, hadn't none of it been guaranteed? Hadn't we only _just_ overcome the final hurdle to our forever together? Hadn't we faced trial after trial, threat after threat, for too many months on end now? Whether that was due to my own foolish exploits, or the murderous intentions of others, we had always existed in a flurry of adrenaline and instinct.

Only now were we finally settling into the life we truly deserved…

"What are you thinking?"

Beau's voice, standing out from the quiet din in the queue behind and in front of us, interrupted my profound introspection.

I turned toward him, smiling softly with amusement. "I was under the impression that was my line."

Beau chuckled. "You just looked so deep in thought." He reached up to touch the edge of my face, his eyes lingering on mine. "I wanted to know what had you so caught up."

The entirety of his hand fanned to cradle my face, and as always, the gesture flooded me through with incomparable warmth and bliss. I sighed contentedly. "I suppose I was just realizing that this is how life _should_ be. Before now, the trial and tribulation has all but dictated our steps for us… This is the first time I feel we're truly…" I struggled for the words, but couldn't find an adequate enough term.

But Beau was nodding, not needing the further explanation it seemed. "I get it… Like we're finally safe to just… _Be_."

"Yes," I agreed, "Though you know the minute we get to baggage claim, Archie will be his usual overbearing self, getting us ready for Dartmouth."

Beau laughed. "You know he'll use his new title as my brother to play whichever card he needs to."

"Undoubtedly," I agreed, laughing too. "In fact, I'm surprised my cell phone isn't already being inundated with calls and texts."

.

Eleanor's face was the first I saw in the crowd waiting for us at baggage claim.

Her thoughts were blaringly loud, even intermixed with the constant thrum of the crowds around us.

 _Wow... Look at her—it's like she's a whole new person! I can't believe she actually pulled it off! … Okay, maybe 'pulled it off' is the wrong choice of words… But still!_

"Welcome home!" Archie crowed as we neared my family. Our reunion was filled with hugs, smiles and laughter, and I was overcome with speechless joy in the face of my parents' and siblings' excitement to have us back.

"I hear we have some preparations to take care of," Jessamine said as, once we were in possession of our luggage, we headed toward the doors together. My sister looped her arm through mine as we made our way toward short-term parking.

I arched an eyebrow at her. _We_? I wondered.

And then I saw the plans in my favorite brother's head.

I was too shocked to say anything, so at first I didn't. But his plans seemed to only grow more elaborate in the face of our return.

 _… And since when have we actually gone off to college together?_ he was trying to rationalize now, when he caught my taken-aback stare. _C'mon, it'll be fun! Beau's the perfect excuse—_

"Excuse?!" I hissed quietly under my breath.

 _Okay, wrong choice of word… Perfect_ _ **reason**_ _to go all out this time! We'll already have the house, so why not get involved? The graduation party and wedding reception went so well… I think I found my niche, really. Think I can get a degree in party planning? What would that be—Business or Fine Arts…?_

I sighed in exasperation, knowing there was no stopping Archie when he got an idea in his head. As if I needed any more confirmation than that, he showed me the visions he'd seen, popping up in his head in the last week, once Beau had made the decision to attend post-secondary. Most of them involved some spectacle or another, interspersed with quiet afternoons spent on the grassy court in front of the Arts building.

I knew, though it would annoy both Beau and myself, that Archie had never really experienced the human world in this way. With a human as a best friend and now brother-in-law, many more avenues had been opened to him, and it was impossible to deny the freshness of perspective my brother possessed now, much like my own.

For Archie, a big part of his life was an enormous black hole—nothing before, nothing between. I knew, as much as his optimistic attitude helped him along, he felt he'd missed some things, especially the human things. Knowing what we did now of his past, I just couldn't bring myself to deny him his simple pleasures. Archie had always elicited a sort of soft spot inside me, whether that was due to our shared alienation, even in the supernatural world, due to our unique talents, or if it was due to the unfair instance of our very young 'deaths'…

I didn't know if it was a combination of these factors, or in spite of them, that all of us seemed to give him so much lenience, but either way, Archie somehow always found a way to get what he wanted.

 _C'mon,_ he goaded me now, _It's never gonna be like this again…_

He showed me a vision, made indistinct by unmade decisions and the distance of its timing, of our family all grouped together, this time with Beau as one of us.

I sighed, knowing this was one battle I would not win. Archie grinned, entirely too happy about this fact, and threw his arm over Jessamine's shoulders on my other side, beginning to whistle happily to himself.

The next series of days were filled with packing, preparations for the house waiting for us in New Hampshire, arranging flights and shipping details for our cars and other essentials. Though Archie and Jessamine would be the only siblings to accompany us to school—Royal was perfectly comfortable with the role he and Eleanor had taken on as a newly married couple, _again_ —my parents had decided that now was a good time to make the long overdue move themselves.

We'd lived in many different places over the years, but our options were constantly hindered by the necessity of sufficient cloud cover. We kept semi-permanent residences in a variety of cities; I still owned my biological parents' house in Chicago, but had been renting it out for years under a pseudo name. Earnest and Carine owned a second house in Westchester, New York, as well as a third residence in Ohio, where Earnest had been born. We'd bought and sold houses as obligation had required over the years, but invariably, some homes had captured our hearts, and we hadn't been able to bring ourselves to relinquish them.

Now, Earnest and Carine were planning to move into my family home in Chicago. The style of house my birth parents had purchased in the late 1890's was referred to as what many regarded as Chicago's version of the New York brownstone. Most houses of my childhood era had been built from limestone—a distinct sort of façade harvested mostly from quarries surrounding Bedford, Indiana.

The Classical Revival had been unsurprisingly nestled in with a variety of houses boasting the same ornamentation—all of them with cozy and tight-fitting quarters. But their greystone exteriors gave the illusion of a grander, more spacious living space.

The only reason we were able to return to the house in Chicago now, was because our numbers, though larger than they had ever been, were diminished in this particular instance. With Archie, Jessamine, Beau and me away at Dartmouth, and Eleanor and Royal off in Canada with Tanvir and his brothers, my parents were able to blend in a little more seamlessly with the humans, being on their own.

Invariably, our housing situation would need to change once Beau decided he was ready to become immortal, but because I had no way of knowing, now, exactly _when_ that would be, my parents felt comfortable remaining in Chicago in the meantime.

"It could be weeks, or it could be years," I admitted to my mother later the night of our return, while Beau slept in the golden-swathed bed on the third floor. "I have no way of knowing when he'll be ready."

"And we want him to be ready," Carine reminded me, appraising my face closely. _She looks more liberated than ever before, and yet… There's something in her tone…_

I sighed in response to her quiet musings. I could never hide my true feelings from my mother.

"What is it, Edythe?" she asked gently.

"It's duplicitous of me," I said quietly, "Isn't it?"

"What is?"

"For so long I pushed and pushed for this—for Beau to stay human… But now I'm finding myself… Almost upset over his decision. I suppose I've allowed myself to bolster my hopes a little too much…"

Carine laid a hand on my back. "It's reasonable to want a future with your husband, Edythe. No one looks down on you for that."

"I know, but it's just… It seems silly, doesn't it, to have fought the inevitable for so long, and then, when it finally seems as if my desires are coming true—I suddenly make an abrupt turn and change my mind completely."

"Not silly," Carine disagreed. "And I hardly doubt you've changed your mind completely. It's not as if you're upstairs arguing with him this very moment, are you?"

I shrugged.

"Want to know what _I_ think?" Archie spoke up from across the room. He and Jessamine had just been playing chess, but apparently, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to meddle in my affairs, yet again.

"When are you going to learn to let be?" I inquired of him.

Archie grinned cheekily at me. "Um… Let me think… Never. Anyway— _I_ think you have a tendency to severely overreact about things. Beau never told you he didn't want to be a vampire anymore."

I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. Just how close an eye had he been keeping on us?

"He said he just wanted to be mortal for a little longer… You'll see. Once his raging desire cools off a bit—you know, the novelty of something new and all—he'll be ready." He said the words with such confidence, with his arms folded across his chest, shoulder against the doorframe, and a smug smile on his lips, that I would have liked to cuff him on the head.

But I knew he was right. I _did_ tend to overreact.

"Fine," I admitted, "I overreact sometimes. Sue me."

"No one's suing you," he argued, still grinning, "You just sometimes need some reminding that you're a _little bit_ … Manic… Obsessive… Controlling…"

"Okay, okay," I interrupted, "That's enough. Thank you very much. You can be off now."

Archie laughed, and disappeared through the archway, back into the living room.

.

"Hey, kid!"

We had hardly mounted Charlie Swan's porch steps before the door had swung wide to reveal Beau's father, grinning and easygoing. Obviously surprising Beau, Charlie pulled his son into a gruffish sort of embrace, slapping him on the back.

"You got some sun!"

"Uh… Yeah."

"Did you two have a nice time?" he inquired as he ushered us through the door, and into the living room.

"It was lovely," I said as we settled into the loveseat, and Charlie flopped into the nearby armchair. As always, the television was tuned to ESPN, last night's highlights playing on a looping reel.

"So obviously you went somewhere sunny."

Beau flushed a little, seeming embarrassed by this, of all things. It just didn't make sense to me.

"Yes. I thought Beau was long overdue for a tropical vacation."

"So where'd you two wind up?"

"Southern Brazil," I told him. This seemed to surprise him, but not as much as my next words, "My parents own a small private island south of Rio, and they offered to let Beau and I borrow it for the honeymoon."

I flashed a grin at my husband, who looked mortified.

Charlie's eyebrows lifted on his forehead. "Private island… Wow, that's sure something…"

Beau cleared his throat and suddenly sat forward. "So, what have you been up to, Dad?" He was obviously eager to change the subject.

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Work's been keeping me busy. Went fishing over the weekend. Bonnie's been by a couple times, cooking me dinner and such."

As foggy as Charlie's thoughts usually were, he was very clearly remembering the meals she'd made him, and the evenings they'd been spending together. I felt the smile playing around my lips, genuinely happy for the two.

They'd waited so long for this opportunity—Bonnie especially—and I was glad they were finally together.

"That's nice of her," Beau was saying now. "Wouldn't want you starving to death."

The two chuckled together. It was no secret that Charlie had been living the epitome of the single man's life before Beau had arrived in Forks and taken over his kitchen. Beau had always been a natural cook, and from the sounds of it, the trait had bloomed from practically nothing. Though Renee's cooking had always been experimental at best, she was by no means a tungsten chef, and I knew for a fact that before a couple of years ago, Charlie had subsisted mainly off of fried eggs, Holly Clearwater's fish fry, and canned chili.

We spent the next couple of hours talking with Charlie, and though there wasn't much to catch up on, the conversation seemed to flow freely between Beau and his father. Now that the plans to attend Dartmouth had been set in motion, Beau seemed to feel liberated to speak more deeply of his plans.

I was very glad to know he no longer viewed Dartmouth as a cover story, and that he was finally allowing himself to feel excitement over the prospect.

Charlie's pride and excitement for his son's college ambition was palpable in the air. He had never had the same opportunity as his son, and it was obvious he was eager to hear of Beau's college experiences and stories.

Beau was planning to major in English studies, which would provide him with a fine foundation for any future endeavors. I approved of his choices immediately, knowing that whatever he chose to do in the future, that his opportunity to study human connection and artistic expression through literature would apply to virtually any career choice he might eventually find interest in. He'd spoken of teaching, however none of us knew how long it would be before he'd honed the self-restraint required to take on such an occupation.

"What about you, Edythe? What are you planning on taking?" Charlie asked, turning toward me.

I was once again stunned by his undeserved change in heart toward me. Though he still thought my breakup with Beau had been rather harsh, he'd been able to find it in his heart to forgive me for my deplorable actions last Fall, and he'd accepted that Beau seemed to have chosen to spend the rest of his life with me. Charlie didn't see much point in holding animosity toward the only daughter-in-law he'd ever get, and had decided to try and keep things as civil and pleasant as possible.

I smiled at him, grateful for his efforts. "I'll be going into Pre-medicine."

"I'm sure your mother is very proud."

"She is… I'm lucky to have such an amazing woman to set such an dedicatory example."

We spoke a little of what Archie's plans were, and then the conversation circled back around to immediate family and friends.

"… and, I guess I forgot to tell you that Julie's home now," Charlie was saying now, his tone enthusiastic.

Beau's face fell, just for a fraction of a second before he forced composure, and for the first time since our return, I felt my stomach turn sickeningly. Would the reoccurrence of Julie's presence sour Beau's tranquil mood?

"That's… That's great!" he said now.

A beat of awkward silence passed through the room, crowding up the air with stifling heat.

"How-how's she doing?" Beau finally inquired, and I didn't think it was just me who detected the forced note in Beau's tone.

"Well, Bonnie's sure happy to have her home," Charlie said. "I think she's still acting a bit distant, but at least she's back where she belongs."

Beau nodded distractedly.

I held myself very still, not knowing what to say. Whether Beau wanted to see her again or not was up to him completely. At this point, I didn't know whether this would benefit him or not. Sometimes it was best to leave the past in the past, and move on with the future, in my opinion, but Beau could think differently, of course.

A sudden flash of indignation lit through me. Hadn't Julie Black caused enough trouble for us, for once and for all? I had to hand it to her, however, at least she wasn't being her usually overbearing self.

"She's been asking about you," Charlie added now, and my former leniency was immediately quashed.

"Asking about me?" Beau repeated.

"Just… Whether you're home yet, what your plans are for the fall… You know."

"Yeah…"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt to give her a call," I said now. It occurred to me that the pack would be reasonably concerned for Beau's status. They didn't know whether the change had been incited yet—and I knew they were only doing their job, looking out for their village.

They didn't know we'd already surmounted the most difficult of stepping stones. We'd be far gone by the time Beau became immortal, but of course, they weren't aware of that. After all, we'd promised that no human would be bitten within the treaty boundaries ever again. As much as Beau's sudden change of heart to remain human had surprised me, I knew it would surprise Julie Black and her sisters even more.

.

 **A/N:** So there's the next chapter! They're home now, ready to head off to college… And everything seems as it should be… I wonder what'll happen next?! Let me know what you think. As always, thank you so much for the love and support. I'll see you all next time! xo


	11. Foreboding

**A/N:** I have no excuse for my extended absence whatsoever, except to say that I may have done a good job of burning myself out! … You think? Three books in under a year? I'd say. ANYWAY. I owe you all a huge apology for keeping you waiting half the summer for an update—especially because of where I left things. So sorry for worrying so many of you.

To be quite honest, I've even been putting off reading reviews and PM's because I'm so anxious about the backlash I'm undoubtedly getting from some of my readers. I know, I know. I deserve it—leaving you guys stranded with no explanation.

But what I CAN assure you of, is that I have the next half (more or less) of the book plot bullet-pointed on paper, and that has honestly been my saving grace. Now all I have to do is write!

So I won't keep you waiting any longer. If you guys caught my update in the reviews section last week, you'll see that I did my best to get this chapter up before I left for vacation, but that didn't end up happening. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for being kind.

.

The first two weeks at school passed so completely free of worry or accident that I found myself just waiting for something to go badly. Perhaps it was the trauma we'd sustained in the past that kept me on my toes, so to say. Or perhaps there was something more behind the needling concern that seemed to prod at my very core—some kind of wifely intuition.

Beau's migraines returned one evening after dinner as we were going over our respective class notes from the first few days. At first I didn't notice the change in Beau's affect. It wasn't until he pushed his notes away and rose from the table that I looked up and saw the pale, drawn expression on his face.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said, even as he clutched the side of his head. "Just a headache. I think I'm gonna head up to bed."

I was on my feet and beside him in a flash, touching the tips of my fingers to his brow. The blue in his eyes was fractured and clouded, and I was unexpectedly haunted by the image of a coming storm.

"I'll get you some Tylenol."

I met him in the bedroom with the pills and a glass of water, which he took without complaint. He took a shower and then crawled into bed with the lights out. It took him quite some time to relax enough to fall into unconsciousness—a number of hours, in fact.

But when, the next morning, the pain had dissipated, I realized that the night I'd spent in a panic had all been for nothing.

"Humans get headaches, Edy," Archie told me the next morning, "It's nothing to worry about."

But the next two weeks continued much in the same way, the migraines occurring with enough frequency and severity to really start to concern me, though Beau insisted they were nothing. My brother and sister, as well, attempted to convince me that it was nothing to worry about, but I just couldn't seem to lay the issue to rest.

It wasn't until early October, however, until the migraines really started to affect Beau's daily life. They usually occurred in the evening or late afternoon, but on the first Monday morning of October, Beau couldn't get out of bed.

"Maybe you'd feel better if you had a shower," I suggested in a whisper, having learned that speaking in hushed tones helped the pain in his head lessen somewhat.

Beau jerked his head in what I assumed was a disagreement, but didn't open his eyes. "I just need to rest," he insisted as I laid my palms on either side of his face. He was too pale.

"You should go to class," he murmured a few seconds later.

I sighed, torn. I knew he didn't want me fussing over him, that he'd rather I continue on with my normal day, but how could I leave him alone in his pain like this? "I know you've denied me on all counts before," I began to insist, already knowing what his rebuttal would be, but unable to stop myself anyway, "But maybe we should go and see a doctor, if only for a check-up, to make sure everything is… As it should be."

There was a long pause on Beau's part, and I watched his chest rise and fall evenly as he seemed to mull this over.

"Maybe you're right," he conceded then, quite unexpectedly. Instead of feeling the relief I thought I would in the face of his agreement, instead I felt only a deeper concern. If he was agreeing, finally, this easily to go and see a doctor, then his ailments must be truly bothering him.

"I'll go for you," he continued, his eyes steady and unwavering, fixed on my own now. "I know you're worried. But I'm telling you—it's nothing to panic about." He made a few excuses about change in elevation, the stresses of school, but still, I wasn't convinced.

.

The doctor was able to see Beau in just under a week.

"According to your charts, you've lost a few pounds since your last physical," the nurse reported, the little weights chinking on the scales as Beau stepped off.

He shrugged as she turned her back on us and headed down the corridor toward the exam room. "Is that a lot?"

"It's nothing concerning; you're still in healthy range. Just a little lower than last time," she reiterated with a friendly smile as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm and began to pump the bulb.

After jotting down his numbers—normal—she left us alone. "The doctor will be with you in just a few minutes," she stated before letting the door click shut.

The room we'd been directed into wasn't much more spacious than a closet. There were no windows, and the walls were lined with the necessary medical equipment on both sides. The examination table was squeezed against the east wall, at the foot of which the sink sat, its chrome tap shiny and recently polished. Beau and I sat in the two institutional chairs squeezed in between the exam table and countertops, of which end, closest to the door, was dominated by a computer and keyboard system.

The receptionist had squeezed Beau into an early slot, and so only two other patients had been in the room before us. I could smell the lingering traces of their scent, though the nurse had cleaned the room well between each occupation.

Beau was nervous. I could smell the increased adrenaline in his blood, and I listened to the augmented rate of his pulse with attentive ears.

I reached for his hand, which was lying relaxed in his lap. When I wove my fingers through his, he looked up at me with a small smile on his lips. I wanted to ask him how he was doing, how he was feeling, but at that moment the doctor stepped into the room with a cursory knock of etiquette.

"Hi, there," he greeted us as he entered the room. He was a short, balding man with a kind-looking affect, and very bright eyes. "How are we doing today?"

"I'm… Alright," Beau answered as Dr. Smiley took a seat on the rolling stool.

"What brings you in today?"

Somewhat haltingly, Beau told the doctor about the headaches he'd been having. To my surprise, he tracked the pains all the way back to early summer, before we'd even graduated.

"But they only got really bad just recently here," he finished.

"How often would you say they come about?" the doctor inquired after typing a few notes into the computer.

"I mean," Beau said, and threw a somewhat sheepish glance my way, a measure of wariness in his eyes, "It's kind of this constant, y'know, dull blade in my skull—but it only really gets bad, like, three or four times a week, I'd say. Maybe five."

This was news to me. I'd had no idea the pain had been so consistent for him. If I'd been aware of this, I would have taken more measure to assure we'd seen a doctor sooner. I would have been able to tell Carine more in our phone calls leading up to today. She'd promised she'd come down and examine Beau if the local doctor wasn't up to par, but just this morning she'd assured me that Dr. Smiley was exceptional in his practice.

"Hm," the doctor said now, "So, pretty debilitating, I'd say."

"Um, I guess."

"Do they stop you from going to work or school at all?"

"Sometimes."

"Any nausea or vomiting, visual disturbances, numbness in your extremities, hallucinations, auditory or visual, with these headaches?"

"No—nothing like that. I mean, I guess I get pretty nauseous and sensitive to light and stuff. But no hallucinations or numbness or anything like that."

Dr. Smiley entered a few more notes into his document on the computer, and then proceeded onto the physical examination, testing Beau's reflexes, pupils, lymph nodes, ears, lungs and heart.

I couldn't make sense of the dual essence of relief and frustration that rose up inside me as everything came back normal. Relief, because the doctor had found absolutely nothing the matter with him; frustration, because still we knew nothing about _why_ he was being overcome with such severe migraines!

"I don't know what else to tell you," Dr. Smiley finally said when he was finished, "Except that stress is the most probable culprit. You've been through a lot of changes in the last little while. Try and find a way to manage your stress levels, free up your schedule as much as you can, make sure you're taking care of yourself. Enough rest, drinking lots of water, eating well..."

Beau nodded obediently. "Sure."

"And if these headaches continue… Come and see me again. In fact, let's follow up in two to four weeks. That sound all right to you? Just to see where things are at."

"Of course."

"Okay, then. See you in a few weeks then, Beau." Dr. Smiley rose from his stool after hitting a button on the keyboard. His gaze flickered to me, the way it had done much of during our visit. He couldn't explain to himself why he felt simultaneous intimidation and attraction all at once. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Swan," he said.

"Yes, you as well, Doctor," I replied, using the voice I often employed to put humans at ease. It had been so long since I'd felt the necessity for it, it tasted odd on the back of my tongue.

It was in that moment, as Beau picked my bag up off the floor and handed it to me, I realized just how tight my shoulders felt. I remembered all the times I'd worried over his health, the fragility of such an awfully vulnerable species… Long ago, I thought I'd settled into this role rather comfortably. And now that we were living as normal a life as possible, a foot on either side of the line we straddled between daydream and reality, fantasy and nightmare, I would have thought it would have been even easier for me to assume a predictable wifely routine. School, dinners, social lives, private moments as a couple…

But even with as much of the supernatural hindrances behind us as I could manage, still I worried. It seemed there may be no escape from my monstrosities, and that was okay. As much as Beau had overlooked them and accepted me despite of their presence, despite the tremendous personal growth I'd done in the recent months in learning to love and accept myself, to accept myself worthy of his love. We both knew these instincts and absurdities were as muted inside my being as they ever would be; that the human side of me was more prominent than ever before. We needn't worry about those bits of the puzzle anymore. We'd dealt with them and laid them aside.

As much as I liked to fool myself into believing I could protect him from harm and travesty at any particular moment in any given day, that, too, we'd accepted and found easy balance within.

But illness and affliction were still things I was unfamiliar with. They were still things that hadn't affected Beau much in the time we'd been together. For whatever reason, his immune system seemed to remain as firm as his resolve. But now, with seemingly no cause at all, our faith was again being tested.

He squeezed my hand as we stepped out into the overcast day. "I'm fine," he assured me.

But as gauzy and insubstantial as the sky above us was, there remained an obsessive black cloud of foreboding over the crown of my head.

.

 **A/N:** I hope you guys can forgive me for taking soooo much time off of this, but I really needed the break. Uploads won't be as frequent as they used to be. Once or twice a month. I recently went back to work after staying home with my girlies for four years. So it's been a fun change, but it's been a CHANGE, you know?

Things will start to pick up now, plot-wise, and we may see Julie again soon ;) Who knows?

Sending you all lots of love and hugs! I've missed you all so much!


	12. Halloween

**A/N:** Hey, guys… Long time no see. I'm not gonna waste a bunch of time with a rambling author's note. Just know I appreciate all of your support immensely, and no… This story is not dead ;) It is very much alive, and will continue to be.

Really hoped to have posted this by Halloween, but ah well—think of it as a late treat :)

.

I had yet to come to terms with the overpowering smells of the typical aromatics that comprised parts of Beau's dinners—the heavy smell of oil, the burning stench of onion, the sour tang of garlic. Despite the many times I'd sautéed these same ingredients together in a pan, time and time again they remained as obstinately repugnant to me as ever.

The only thing that could possibly be worse than the smell of cooking vegetables was that of cooking meat. I eyed the fleshy bits resting on the plate beside the stove contemptuously as I added the mushrooms to the pan and stirred.

The object of my cooking had become such a controversial topic in the home that Jess and Archie had taken to completely leaving the premises whenever I pulled out a frying pan. That particular detail was fine with me, however, as it left the entire estate to mine and Beau's disposal for at least an hour.

Just now, I heard his socked feet pad across the kitchen, and then felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind. He kissed my temple, and then rested his chin on my shoulder, inhaling through his nose deeply.

"Smells good."

"Does it?" I fought to keep my expression neutral, but couldn't quite veil the contempt.

"Anything you cook always smells and tastes amazing."

I smiled softly as I rolled the wooden spoon amidst the steadily shrinking mushrooms, and then reached for the plate holding the chicken breasts.

"Food Network," we said together then, and laughed. It had become something of a running joke between us.

I'd already seasoned the meat, and so only needed to add them to the pan. There was a pronounced sizzle as the flesh came into contact with the hot metal, and the inescapable pong of burning flesh reached my nostrils.

Beau must have seen the look of total disgust on my face and chuckled. "Here," he said, reaching for the tongs, "Let me."

I tightened my grip around the handle, refusing to give up my position at the stove. "I know what I'm doing," I assured him.

Again, he attempted to hip bump me out of the way, but only succeeded in knocking himself sideways a step or two. "That might be true," he conceded, "But you are most definitely not enjoying yourself over there."

"Who says?" I challenged, assuming an expression of faux outrage. "I thoroughly enjoying cooking dinner for my husband."

"Thoroughly?"

"Thoroughly."

Our gazes didn't waver from each other's for longer than half a minute, and I was suddenly acutely aware of the exceptionally alluring scent coming off Beau's skin.

Something changed in the color of his irises, the blue darkening just slightly, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

A warm, electric feeling originated from where his arm still rested around my waist, steadily extending to circuit over the entire surface of my skin, and detonating deep within my abdomen, a palpable force.

"Where are Arch and Jess?" Beau asked then, his voice quiet and intense, in that familiar way.

"Hunting," I told him, which I wasn't exactly sure about, but I knew they'd be out of the house for at least another hour.

Beau's gaze shifted between the pan on the stove and my face. He drew a breath. "You know, I'm not really that hungry yet—"

Before he could complete voicing his suggestion, I'd flipped the breasts, covered the pan, and turned down the heat.

I coiled my arms around his neck, pulling his chest flush with mine and touched my lips to his, just barely. "We have twenty minutes," I breathed.

Beau combed his fingers through my hair with one hand, the other tracing a white-hot line down my back and over the curve of my hips. "Not much to work with," he murmured breathlessly as I deftly undid the buttons on his flannel shirt and pushed it over his shoulders to reveal the plain t-shirt underneath.

"Maybe not for you," I purred, and slid my hands underneath his shirt to feel the hot, pulsing muscles of his abdomen and chest.

A moment later, I'd freed him of the t-shirt as well, and then steadied my hands against his bare shoulders, lifting myself so I could wrap my legs around his waist. I locked my mouth against his and dragged my fingers through his thick, fragrant hair, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue and inhaling his perfume greedily.

"Now, please," I whispered into his ear, "Get me out of this kitchen so I don't have to smell that chicken anymore."

"You don't have to ask me twice."

It took far longer than I would have liked, ascending to the second level of the house at Beau's pace, but we finally made it to the master bedroom and toppled onto the king sized mattress at the far end of the suite.

We'd been married for almost three and a half months, and our passions were still stoked with the flames of discovery, invigoration and desire. But it was difficult to indulge these longings, to extinguish the seemingly never-relenting lustful fires, amidst a full class load, and in competition with not only living aside two of my siblings, but also Beau's migraines—which, though he tried not to let it become obvious continued to bother him.

As ever, I could not read his mind, but I had become quite adept in reading his face, his eyes, his body and his emotions. As much as he would have liked to hide his discomfort from me, I knew better—even though I knew he wished I didn't.

But for now, in the eye of the storm, in the midst of this sweet reprieve, there was only this—us, the thousand-thread count of the sheets beneath us, the heat and the silk of Beau's skin, and the saccharine taste of his lips against mine.

.

"Is this absolutely necessary?"

It was exactly a week later, and I was not the only one who suspected that Archie's plans for his first Halloween party in decades had inflated just a little too much beyond reasonable measures.

Beau stood in front of the wide mirror affixed to the wall in the corridor outside our bedroom, his expression severely plaintive and unerringly critical.

"Absolutely," Archie said from over his shoulder, a huge grin on his face. _Again, my visions—both literal and creatively—have come to fruition._ "You two are absolute perfection."

Beau cocked an eyebrow at his fake-bloodied white, buttoned shirt, crimson-dotted jeans, and severely disoriented hair—gelled to stay that way—in the mirror. He turned his head to examine the painted-on wound in the side of his neck, and tried not to grimace.

"My wife's an absolute visionary with the makeup, don't you think?" Archie urged.

"Uh…" Beau hesitated, his eyes tracing the contours of the sharp-edged bite marks engraved into the fake skin Jessamine had plastered over top of his carotid artery, and this time he visibly flinched. "Sure?"

He drew his gaze away from the bite replica—which, to be fair, Jessamine had done incredible justice; takes one to know one and such—and turned to look at me.

I watched him take in the outfit—the long black gown with the plunging neckline, the black nails filed into the shape of a stiletto, the blood—again, fake—which caked my chin and upper chest, and the makeup which Jessamine had had more fun with, still. The ruby lips and shadows beneath my eyes, coupled with the smoky effect and the marbling around it all, gave off a supremely scary effect. My eyes, however, remained the color of rich butter, which took the edge off some, and added to it in different ways.

Beau turned back to Archie. "You don't think it's a little too…?"

"What?"

"Uh, I don't know, accurate?"

Archie snorted, and gently socked Beau on the shoulder. "She may have tried to eat you a couple years ago, dude, but we all know that temptation has long since passed."

Beau rolled his eyes, possessing no patience for Archie's theatrics. "I know _that_ ," he grumbled, "It's just… Don't people at school already think we're a little… different? And doesn't—"

"Beau, my man," Archie interrupted him, "People in college don't pay near as much attention to us as people in a small-town high school did. Don't _worry_. No one's going to suspect anything. It's like… Fight fire with fire, right? If we were _actually_ vampires, would we _actually_ be dressing up as them for Halloween?" He gave Beau a conspiratorial wink and turned to watch Jessamine stride toward us.

She, too, was dressed as the heavily stereotyped female vampire—and Archie her all-too-willing victim. She came to a stand-still at Archie's side, wrapping one arm around his waist.

 _Stop worrying, the both of you,_ she thought as all tension and hesitation was suddenly released from my shoulders. _It'll be fun._

To be completely transparent, I hadn't even realized I'd been feeling any reservation about Archie's mega Halloween party at all until Jessamine had replaced it with ease and just enough excitement to get things moving.

While Archie set to work putting the finishing touches on the 'haunted halls' of the house—complete with cobwebs, dark corners and creaking sound effects—Beau and I were sent to the kitchen to finish up the 'horror d'oeuvres', as Archie had dubbed them.

Just as I was arranging the pumpkin-shaped cheese ball in the center of its platter, two familiar minds came into range, and I smiled in anticipation.

It wasn't long before Eleanor and Royal came through the back door, dressed to the nines in their twenties-esque outfits. Of course, this wasn't a far stretch from the wardrobe we'd all been used to only half a century ago, but it would remain a get-up to the barely-adults soon to arrive on our doorstep.

El was dressed to the nines in six inch pumps, fishnets, and pinstripe skirt and jacket, complete with scarf and matching hat, holding a demure pistol at her side. Royal was equally as impressive in his own 1920's gangster apparel, toting a bigger rifle over his shoulder.

"You guys really pulled it off!" she called out, grinning, as they came into the kitchen.

Beau jumped, startled, having not heard their entrance. But I turned and beamed at my brother and sister, mostly happy to see El, but quite enjoying Roy's presence as well. It had been a long time, too long under happy circumstances, to have spent this much time and not have seen them.

El embraced me tightly and then turned to clap Beau on the shoulder. "Got the short end of the stick, didn't you, kid?" she said severely.

"No, I just—it was—"

Eleanor laughed as Beau stammered, and laughed harder when his face flushed pink.

The set of his jaw changed, the blue of his eyes glinting with something like resignation, carefully crafted hostility, and mirth. But, of course, I couldn't be sure.

"You know Archie," he finally conceded.

"I do what I want!" said vampire-hiding-in-the-open boomed as he entered the kitchen, his arms spread wide. "You guys made it!"

"Of course! You haven't thrown a shindig like this since eighty four!" Eleanor crowed, crossing the floor to embrace him, too. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, little brother!"

Archie smirked at her and ducked just in time to avoid her would-be human-skull-crushing noogie. "Little brother," he scoffed. It had been a point of well-known, friendly contention between the two since we'd all come together in 1950. It didn't matter to Eleanor that Archie was older than her in the ways that counted. I'd tried to tell him on more than one occasion that she obstinately referred to _me_ as her little sister, even though I was the oldest of us all aside from our mother, but Archie had never learned to accept El's claims and still insisted on arguing against the title.

Royal and Archie greeted each other then, and I was surprised when my blond brother spoke not only to me, but made an effort to acknowledge Beau as well.

This seemed to take him off guard as well, because his ears went pink once more when Royal nodded in his direction before heading into the front room.

With two more pairs of hands on board, the party preparations went much faster, and we were ready for our guests not fifteen minutes later. The black lights were employed, the decorations hung, the food set out, and the music blaring.

"And," Archie said, crossing into the living room with two kegs in each hand, "What would a college party be without beer?"

Royal followed with two more kegs, and Eleanor came in toting a seventh.

"A lot of beer," she said, setting it next to Archie's. "Apparently, we're either trying to drown these college kids in it, or poison them to death."

Archie glared at her. "Sorry if I want to show these kids a good time. And on a side note, no one's going to die at my party." Archie's face looked almost scary in the purple-hued lighting.

Eleanor raised her hands in defense. _Jesus, can't the kid take a joke?_ "Even Death herself would not dare cross this threshold."

Her words seemed to satisfy Archie, and he began to arrange the kegs in a semi-circle next to the fireplace, which he'd filled with black-painted pumpkins and paper-mache'd skulls, humming 'This is Halloween' to himself.

.

The party proceeded with no apparent near-poisonings or drownings.

People ate, drank, chatted and danced to their hearts' contents, and I was happy to report to Beau that there were no apparent wonderings about the true origins of our nature, nor any suspicion regarding our costumes.

In fact, on the part of some of the students, there was maybe a little _too much_ fascination, especially with Beau's costume.

"Oh, come on, Edy, don't be jealous," Eleanor cajoled, following my gaze across the room, where a certain young female—while not blonde, popular and vile-minded—reminded me painfully of Forks's own McKayla Newton. She was practically breathing the same air as Beau was, using the poor excuse of loud music to get close to him.

 _Ugh, how can someone who's covered in blood still be soo hot? That_ jaw line _—I just can't!_

"I'm not jealous," I told Eleanor as the girl chattered on relentlessly, unceasingly. I watched them for a moment longer, only growing increasingly more irritated. "I mean, how much is there _really_ for them to talk about? They share one class."

 _Maybe you should go over there._

"Can't she see his ring?"

 _I wonder if I can make up an excuse to get him out of here? It's kind of loud in here, and I'd really like to get to know him better… Even though I feel like we've been friends for_ ever _anyway…!_

"How much _less_ can you know him? I mean, you don't even know he's married?"

I wasn't aware I'd muttered the words aloud until Eleanor laughed.

 _So get your cute lil butt over there and show her who's boss!_

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe I will," Eleanor mimicked, and snorted again. "Yeah, I can just see it—" _Oh, shit. She's actually going over there._

"And I mean, that just, like, totally resonated with me, y'know?! 'Cause everything Professor Goldman says is just… well, gold, y'know?" the girl was saying, talking so animatedly that she was in serious danger of spilling her drink all over Beau's shirt.

I hoped the indistinct, rabbit-trail manner of her thoughts was a by-product of how much she'd had to drink tonight, instead of an actual facet of her rudimentary personality.

"Uh, yeah, I do," Beau was saying now, clearly uncomfortable as she took a swig of her drink. As she half-buried her face behind her cup, he looked up, scanning the room for a moment until he caught sight of me.

The relief was a concrete non-negotiable on his face, and the anger abruptly cooled, quickly replaced by the calm assurance that came with knowing I was his, and he was mine.

My steps slowed as I came up on the two of them. The girl didn't notice my approach, laying her hand on Beau's arm as she laughed in a shrieking, grating sort of way.

"See!" she crowed, "I knew you'd get it! Nobody ever gets me, but you're just… You're different, Beau… You're special."

"Um… Thanks, Brittani? You're, uh… you're pretty… different? Too…?"

Her eyes were bright, a little too bright, and I could smell just how much she'd had to drink. Brittani Peterson wasn't very wide or tall at all, and the party had barely been going on an hour, but it was clear her blood alcohol level at _least_ exceeded the basic inebriation levels.

She probably wouldn't remember much of this conversation in the morning. Her thought processes were steadily mangling—and unfortunately for Brittani, she was an honest drunk. I could hear her building up to confessing her very shallow and probably brief feelings for Beau, and I just couldn't possibly let that happen. For her humiliation's sake as much as Beau's.

I didn't want to put him in that sort of situation, having to turn down a girl who'd had too much to drink and had just laid her heart out on the line.

"That's why I'm so glad we're such good friends, Beau," she was saying now, picking at the collar of his shirt while he practically cringed against the wall. "Because there's, like, this unspoken thing between us, where we can just be honest, you know? And I really appreciate being able to be honest with you…"

"Hey, Brittani?" I said, right beside them now.

She gave a little start, and turned surprised hazel eyes on me.

Across the room, Eleanor would have been suffocating to death if she'd had the need to breathe.

 _What is she, a hamster? That squeak was hilarious! Whoo… Okay, now, Edy. Show her what you've got; show her what your momma gave you._

I ignored my obnoxious sister's urgings and smiled as sweetly as I was able to at the young, misplaced girl.

"I think you might have found yourself in the wrong place, Brittani," I told her softly.

An abrupt mask of confusion fell over her face, and she glanced around the room. "Wait, isn't this Archie Andrews' Halloween party?"

"Archie—?" Beau began.

In the doorway a few feet away, Archie cleared his throat loudly, catching Beau's attention.

"Just go with it," he hissed.

I shot Archie a condemnatory glower that both humans missed entirely, and then turned back to Brittani. "Yes, Archie Andrews' party. Who did you come with?"

"Oh, um, I came with Lily and Noah, and Melody."

"I think they were looking for you," I told her, quickly scanning the crowd for the barely familiar minds of the people she had mentioned, "Out on the front step. It seemed kind of urgent to me."

"Oh," Brittani said, and glanced past me toward the front door. Then she fixed her eyes back on my face, and her mind registered my name, but she genuinely had no idea that Beau and I were married. "Thanks, Edythe."

She turned and smiled at Beau. "I guess I'll… see you in class on Monday, Beau."

"Yeah," he said, "See you." He lifted his left hand to wave, and one of the strobe lights caught the band of white gold encircling his fourth finger.

Something in Brittani's mind suddenly cleared, and I heard her heart skip an audible beat.

 _Wait. He's…? He's married? Ohmigod, I didn't even know. And…_

She noticed me, then, and put the pieces together.

 _Hold on… She's Archie's sister, right? And her last name wasn't the same as his… S… S, something… Oh god…_

Her gaze dropped to my waist, trying to catch a glimpse of my left hand, but failing in the ill-lit common room.

 _I think I've… Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no… I'd better just go…_

Her gaze lingered a couple seconds longer, and then she turned, stepping through to the front entryway.

"So, that was…" Beau started.

"Painfully reminiscent," I finished, smirking up at him.

Beau gave me a patronizing look. "That was nothing like—"

"That was _everything_ like high school."

Beau sighed, shaking his head.

"But I would venture I might have come to terms with it by this point in time," I confessed.

His brow crinkled. "What does that mean?"

I grinned and stretched up on my toes to kiss him. "It means you're only going to become more devastatingly handsome than you already are when you become immortal," I murmured, "And it wouldn't be fair to all of the unsuspecting, innocent teenage girls for me to go around ripping their heads off when none of them are honestly aware that they're flirting with my amazing, clever, and passionate husband."

He grinned, his palm flattening against the small of my back and pulling me closer to where he was leaning against the wall. His lips, warm and soft, touched mine, and I melted into his chest a little, sighing contentedly.

 _Holy, and I thought me and Roy were bad… Get a room!_

I snickered against his mouth.

"What?" Beau mumbled. His eyes were electric in the darkness of the living room, his skin warm from the crowding of human bodies within the house.

"El thinks we're displaying just a little too much PDA."

"El thinks—?!" Beau started, his face heating.

"If she does, then we must be pretty bad… As bad as they were."

"At least. In fact, I think we might be worse."

He kissed me again, and for a minute, the party around us fizzled into non-existence.

"Definitely worse," I sighed.

 _Oh. My. God. Seriously! I didn't know vampires could feel nauseated!_

I pulled back again and turned to grin in El's direction. She hadn't moved from where she'd been standing before this conversation had taken place.

"If you don't like it, don't stand there and watch like some sort of voyeur," I said to her under my breath.

 _Voyeur?! Yeah, right!_

"You know you played a part in creating this, don't you?"

 _I—What?! How dare you even suggest—_

"All your teasing… all your jibes, your jokes, your innuendos… Well, dear sister, it's time for payback…"

I turned away from her indignant expression and slipped my hand into Beau's. "Come on. We're making my sister nauseous."

I led him from the room, as he blushed beet red as ever, and up the stairs. But as we reached the landing, the cell phone in Beau's pocket began to vibrate and sing. Somehow unaware of it, Beau pushed my hair aside and laid his lips at the nape of my neck, murmuring something about my dress.

"As much as I'd love to hear more about that," I said, slipping my hand into his pocket, "You might want to answer this."

I held the little silver device in front of his face, Renee's name flashing on the screen.

Beau's expression cleared, and he took the phone from me, flipping it open and putting it to his ear.

"Mom?"

" _Phil, actually. Sorry, kid. I don't mean to interrupt your Halloween plans or anything… You guys having a party?_ "

"Uh, kind of… Not really. What's going on? Is Mom okay?" He moved down the hall toward our bedroom door, opening it and slipping inside. He didn't look over his shoulder, and so I assumed he didn't want to be accompanied.

I hesitated on the top step of the staircase, not knowing whether I should follow or not, but ultimately decided to remain where I was.

It was a few minutes before Beau emerged again, and when he did, I searched his face for any sign of distress or anxiety. Surprisingly, he showed none of it, and I chastised myself for overreacting, for suspecting the worst-case scenario.

"Is everyone okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. They just, um, won't be able to make it down for Thanksgiving after all. Renee got put on bed rest for the foreseeable future." He shrugged. "I guess she was having some bleeding and something with her blood pressure… Not exactly sure. Phil wasn't a hundred percent, either. But he asked if we could fly out there instead, if that works for you?"

"Of course it works for me," I told him. "I'm just glad it's not something more serious."

"Yeah, me too." He eased his arm over my shoulders, and pressed his cheek to the top of my head. It was then, as I listened to the gradual slowing of his heart rate, that I realized he maybe hadn't been as calm and collected as I assumed he had been.

.

 **A/N:** A little bit of a longer one for you guys. Thanks for sticking around! I'll see you all next time! Leave me a review if you've got time—I'd love just to read a hi, hello.

 ***EDIT:** Just had such a scare. Went to proofread back through this first draft without saving. My Word froze halfway through and I had to Force Quit without saving the NINE PAGES OF WRITING I DID IN ONE SITTING! Thank the HEAVENS auto-save saved my butt. Phew! Scary few seconds there, kids. But we're good now. Thought you'd all like to know. See ya next time! *****


	13. Thanksgiving

**A/N:** Hey, guys—hope you all had a very Merry Christmas! Consider this my gift to you, though it's not a very good one… ha. I promise you, things will pick up now.

Have a very happy New Year and stay safe celebrating! Love and appreciate you all so much!

.

It was later that evening, after the party had ended and everyone had gone home, that the real horrors of Halloween made themselves known.

Though Beau had long ago made it clear he didn't mind sleeping alone, I knew he slept more restlessly when I was not by his side. In truth, it was difficult for me to be apart from him for any length of time as well. My siblings still could not understand how I was able to sit motionlessly by his inert form for so many hours—it was something they'd never fathomed, and probably never would as long as Beau remained human.

I, however, could honestly say that it didn't bother me in the least. It was more than enough to lay by his side, to feel the warmth of his arms around me, to hear the rhythm of his lungs and heart, their mellow cadence playing under my ear as he slept. It was more than enough to listen to him mumble and speak in his sleep. It was more than enough to stroke his face, to watch his fluttering lids and the perfect shape of his lips, relaxed in unconsciousness.

But sometimes, when Archie and Jessamine really wanted me to, I'd join them downstairs for a board or card game, or I'd go hunting with one of them while the other stayed back with Beau. Archie thought I was crazy for continuing to worry over this aspect; he showed me time and time again that nothing would happen to Beau while the three of us were gone, but I just couldn't possibly bring myself to leave him in the house alone—no matter how safe conditions appeared from my brother's perspective.

Jessamine thought this tendency a bit strange as well, but she could empathize with me a little more than her husband could—after all, she could feel exactly what I felt in the moments where I imagined Beau alone, in a dark house, entirely vulnerable to the monsters of the night that were surely never too far away. Despite this long period of reprieve, I remained steadfastly on alert against any and all possible threat to his safety.

She could feel the depth of my love for him, could understand the anxiety, bolstered by all of the trauma we'd been through in only two short years.

And so, my sister was far more forgiving of my sometimes irrational ways than she ought to be. She understood Beau's safeguarding to be a necessity just as real to me as the need to hunt in order to keep my thirst at bay.

But tonight, I rejoined my siblings downstairs after Beau had fallen asleep—with the help of a prescription dose of rizatriptan. The music had given him a rather large headache, even affecting his balance and vision. As I was always doing these days, I tried not to read more into things than I ought to, but quite honestly could not help myself.

I would have to insist he visit the doctor again—and soon. This was more than stress, more than adjusting to this new stage of life. Despite the fact that his follow up had been more than a week ago—plenty of time to give the new medications time to build up in his system as the doctor had said they would—they did not seem to be having any affect on the migraines.

If I had been able to, I would have been happy to push these thoughts aside in favor of spending time with my siblings. Downstairs, I could hear them setting up a triple game of Canasta, and they were waiting for me.

Eleanor's head was filled with all sorts of ideas to help me forget about the stress of Beau's mysterious ailment for just tonight. But before I could begin to feel amused—or touched—by her efforts, my brother's mental voice broke into my mind with more searing clarity and volume than it had in a long while.

 _Edythe—something's wrong with Renee._

Of course, I already knew this. After all, Beau had received the phone call from Phil only hours ago. But it seemed some decision had been made in the interim, some faltering piece of the equation had been settled—enough for the future to solidify into a viable, discernible premonition.

I stopped halfway down the stairs as Archie's vision filled my own eyes and ears just as it filled his own. Many of the components were unclear, blurred and muffled, but there was one thing that was very clear: If Renee continued on this path, the birth of her child would not be an easy one.

And then, with horror, I realized I'd assumed wrong.

The vision continued, only gathering clarity and impetus as it proceeded, spearing me through with intolerable despair and agony.

No, the child's birth would not be an easy one—it would also result in the death of her mother.

The operating room, the pale body of the mother on the operating table—all of it faded into black, and it was a profound amount of time before I realized why my sight wasn't returning to me. I still had my eyes closed, with my arms curled around my knees.

I felt Archie's hand on my shoulder, could sense my other siblings hovering at the foot of the stairs, could hear Jessamine demanding the details of Archie's vision—and why it had the two of us so shaken. She could feel all of the horror and despair, but had none of the comprehension behind it.

When I opened my eyes and gazed up into Archie's face, his expression was more stricken, more serious, than I had seen it in a long while.

 _What did Phil say on the phone?_

"Nothing," I mouthed, unable to produce sound. "Just that she'd had some bleeding and trouble with her blood pressure. While not precisely normal byproducts of pregnancy, by his accounts the doctor seemed very certain her condition would resolve with bed rest and a reduction in her stress levels."

 _So why…?_

"I don't know."

Archie played through the vision again, and I flinched in response to its abrupt, jarring reappearance. I tried not to pay it any mind as he skipped in fast-forward through the scenes, cataloguing details he hadn't the first time around, trying to discern what went wrong and where.

" _What_?" Jessamine was demanding, her voice too loud in the quiet house, especially with Beau sleeping unaware just a few rooms away. "What did you see, Archie?"

"It's…" I began, but had to swallow before I could go on. "It's Renee. Archie… Archie saw…"

Archie's voice was hollow with mournful disbelief as he finished the sentence I could—would—not, myself. "I saw Renee die."

.

JAX's terminal was like a swarming beehive, even at this time of night. I clung tightly to Beau's hand, and I was forced to realize that the wariness I thought I'd long buried was not quite as dormant as I had assumed. Part of me was terrified I'd lose him in the crowd, either accidentally or due to some other's malicious intent.

But the thoughts that babbled in my head like a noisy brook were nothing outside of normal parameters; only the familiar combination of stress and excitement revolving around the holidays.

"What's that look for?"

The familiar voice, the voice I'd recognize in any time or space, alternate or otherwise, brought me out of my concentrated listening. I looked up at Beau, smoothing my features in an unthinking, reflexive sort of way that reminded me of old times. By the time I answered, I was smiling.

"Nothing. Just… listening."

And then, just as I was attempting to assuage myself for what felt like the hundredth time since we'd left Hanover, I caught the flicker of Phil's thoughts in the distance.

 _Hope they're not long at baggage claim… Don't want to have to leave Renee alone for too long. She says she's fine, but she can barely get to the bathroom on her own…_

Things were much worse than Renee had been letting on in the three previous weeks leading up to our visit. As distanced from her and Phil as I'd been, I had possessed no way of knowing any better. Renee was a good actress, good at pushing her own ailments aside in the favor of appeasing others—which reminded me very much of someone else I knew very well.

Beau saw when the contended smile, so fleeting, dropped off my face. His brow furrowed, and I reached up to smooth the little groove between his dark, straight brows. I'd been out of practice for too long, hiding my emotions from him—and I felt a heavy pang in my stomach when I recognized the weight behind this observation. I was needlessly worrying him.

These next few days were supposed to be about familial reunion, happiness, food and laughter, the anticipation of new life. But I could gather now that Renee would spend much of the weekend even more exhausted than she already had been trying to put on a happy face for her son.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Beau asked as we pulled our bags off the carousel and headed toward the doors where Phil was waiting.

I squeezed his hand again and gazed up into his beautiful, confused—but not pained—eyes, and assumed an expression I knew well.

Fortunately, or maybe not so, pretending was something that came easily for Renee _and_ myself.

"Everything is fine."

.

Phil's thoughts were of an almost frantic pitch the entire procession to the Dwyer estate.

If I had been paying more attention, I would have seen the text Archie had sent me informing us that Phil had decided to pick us up at the airport, and would have been able to insist he stay where he was—that it would be just as easy for Beau and I to catch a taxi to the suburbs of Jacksonville. But I hadn't been paying attention, too distracted by the thinly veiled panic I'd been battling back for almost three weeks now.

As oblivious as Beau had been on Halloween night, the night Archie had seen his mother die, he still remained the same way now. I could not bring myself to put this sort of weight on his shoulders, not now. Not when he was already dealing with so much. Less important things like school, and then building from there, the fact that he was already aware that something _was_ the matter with Renee; only not being aware of the gravity of the situation's entirety. His migraines—which, despite another, much-opposed return-trip to the doctor—were still as severe as ever, maybe even more crippling than they already had been up until this point.

Not only were they causing him more frequent pain, despite the presence of the prescription pain medications the doctor had approved, but he was often having trouble with his vision, his balance, various short-term memory details, and—I feared, but he hadn't confirmed my suspicions—even various bodily functions. He'd become impossibly more clumsy, and I had begun to fear even more for his safety in the kitchen when, one evening, he'd dropped a large knife while slicing his steak. I'd had just enough time to catch Archie's glimpse of blood and gore, so that I could get across the house in time to clutch the blade out of the air before it could impale my husband.

I'd spent half the night on the phone with Carine in a panic. Even she wasn't sure what was going on, and though I was miles away, I knew my mother so well it was almost as if I could read her thoughts.

"I'll send a note over in the morning," she promised, "Hopefully my urging will help him to take more action."

And the doctor had taken further measures in attempting to diagnose the cause behind Beau's headache. But the CT scan had showed nothing out of the ordinary, nor had the blood work. He'd prescribed Beau a secondary, stronger pain medication and booked another follow up for the week after we returned home. But Beau didn't like taking the medication, stating that he didn't tolerate it well—and so he was spending his time in just about as much pain as he had been before.

He hid it well, but I knew that the state of his deteriorating health worried him. He wouldn't speak of it with me, which infuriated me to no end. It felt like I was constantly telling him I was there for him, that there was no need to hide his anxieties from me, but time and time again, he insisted he was fine. Still, I knew that he spent most of his time worrying, wondering, and in discomfort.

So, I hoped I could keep these unnecessary things concealed from him for as long as I possibly could—but I knew how little time remained. However, Archie and Carine weren't _so sure_ that Renee actually would meet the death Archie had seen only a couple of weeks prior. After all, there were so many more decisions to make between now and January, so many unknowns to unveil themselves.

So, as it were, Archie was keeping an extra close eye on Beau's mother as of late. Every small notion in the right direction had us buoyant with hope and elation, and every inclination toward worsening conditions had our moods as black as they had been that first night.

Now, with the presence of Phil's thoughts in my head, I was struggling to find any semblance of the hope my family and I had allowed ourselves to feel. Maybe it had been that, after all our years of maneuvering, distraction, preparation and compelling, we'd somehow, impossibly, been able to avoid much of any sort of trouble—save for the last few _exceptional_ years. Maybe it was that we were simply too optimistic, that this time was altogether different.

I was forced to see that now.

 _Hope she went back to bed after I left… She needs her rest… Especially with the weekend ahead of us… Now, I wonder what I have on hand for breakfast tomorrow. If I set the alarm for six tomorrow morning, will it give me enough time to be up before the kids so that I can try and cook for them? … Can't have Renee trying to host like nothing's wrong. The doctors said specifically not to let her do that… But she's stubborn—I know she'll insist she's fine, and that she'll try to do as much as she can get away with… Bet she's waiting up even now for us…_

As I read through Phil's recent thoughts and apprehensions, as well as scanning his memories when he thought of them in accordance with his current thoughts, I could see that Renee had suffered severe hyperemesis gravidarum throughout the first half of her pregnancy.

I knew she'd not been feeling well as we'd prepared for the wedding in August, but even from me she'd veiled her afflictions well. I'd had no idea she'd ended up in the hospital multiple times for dehydration, electrolyte imbalances, and her inability to nourish herself substantially. Not only had she been plagued by the constant nausea and vomiting, but almost as soon as she'd found herself pregnant, her blood pressure had plummeted—which was only exasperated by the constant dehydration and malnourishment—and despite all of the doctors' efforts, it had refused to come up. Even now, with less than ten weeks to go until her due date—a period of pregnancy where it was almost expected for the blood pressure to rise—there was nothing.

This had resulted in multiple collapses for Renee, and many more rushes to the maternity ward to check on the baby and herself.

All of this coupled with her advanced maternal age had the doctors worried.

As much as I ruminated over these many factors while we drove, I could reach no conclusion as to what decision had triggered the horrible vision Archie had had on Halloween. Was it an oversight on behalf of one of the doctors, or had it been a decision made by Renee herself? It was an answer I didn't have yet.

Aside from wanting to alleviate as much pressure as possible for Beau's mother over the holiday weekend, Archie and I had both decided it would be beneficial for me to visit her myself, so that I could get a more thorough read on hers and Phil's thoughts. But Phil was so wracked with panic for his wife's deteriorating condition that he was unable to offer me much else—at least at this moment in time, without proper prompting.

I hoped, once we'd settled in, that I would be able to find time to talk to one or the both of them, to try and flesh out more of their underlying ruminations, but the busy-ness of the weekend—and both mine and Renee's reluctance to clue Beau in on how bad things had gotten—rendered doing such a thing an impossibility.

There were very few opportunities of privacy for Renee and I, let alone for Beau and I.

True to Phil's predictions, Renee did try to take on a more active role in the weekend's festivities than she ought to have. Because of her insistence on doing so, Beau eventually began to realize that she was hiding something from him. At one point, he'd pulled her aside just before Thanksgiving dinner had been served, sequestering her in the office.

"Mom, are you sure you're okay?" he'd asked her, his voice soft with compassion and concern. Through Renee's eyes, I could see the fragile emotion on his face and in his eyes. She had reached up to touch his cheek, smiling softly at her son.

"Just tired, sweetheart." Renee was almost as bad a liar as her son was, and Beau easily saw through this.

He was quiet for a long moment, and then he said, "Mom… You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"Of course," she'd replied immediately—so quickly her words came that it was blatantly simple to detect the fallacy behind her insistence.

But Beau seemed to take her assurances at face value, and by the time our flight departed the next day, I hadn't made any of the progress on Renee's condition that I had wanted to.

Once again, I found myself in the midst of a hive full of strangers, worrying, watching and waiting…

.

 **A/N:** Like I promised—next chapter will be much more exciting than this one was! As always, I'd love to know your thoughts, comments, guesses and suspicions in the reviews! See you next time!


	14. Diagnosis

**A/N:** Hi, everybody. I won't give this too much pre-amble, just let you get back into the story, but I want to assure you that I'm slowly sinking back into the rhythm of things. When I have free-time, I'm trying to go back through from Daybreak and revise a few things—fix some errors, and make things more my own, but rest assured that DD is my first priority! Going back through things, however, _is_ helping my motivation, so it's a good thing for all of us, I think. I'll let you know when the revised chapters of Daybreak start to go up, of course! Enjoy!

…

It was difficult to believe, even with my impeccable recall, that this time last year, I had been in such an inescapably dark place. While on the hunt for Victor, festive celebration had not been in my sphere of recognition. Residual guilt still remained a troublesome nuisance when I thought about my family and how much they'd been through last winter. Of course, all of it had been due to my demands and then subsequent absence. It had taken me many months of contemplation to realize how selfish I'd been during that time—though 'selfish' had been the farthest thing from what I'd been feeling.

Now, I was perfectly happy to be selfish.

Winter was fully established in the state of New Hampshire. It was colder than Beau was used to; he'd taken to wearing more layers than usual, which helped to disguise the weight he'd begun to lose. It was just becoming noticeable at the beginning of December, though the doctors had assured us it was nothing to worry about if everything else was okay.

Everything else _wasn't_ okay, of course, but we still didn't know why. Carine was pulling every string she could, but by the time the second week of December had hit, we were still as clueless about Beau's condition as we had been in September. The medications had made no difference to Beau's headaches, the imaging had turned up nothing, and his condition continued to deteriorate.

Still, we all struggled to pretend that things were as normal as they could be—most of the time, anyway. I centered myself around the details of Beau's enjoyment and personal growth. In between preparing for final exams before the holiday season began, I also attempted to decorate the house for Christmas.

Over the years, the holidays had fallen by the wayside for our family, ultimately becoming significantly less of a priority in the years we'd spent as immortals. More often than not, these celebrations only served to remind us of the never-ending repetition of the years. The other parts of the holidays, centered around feasting and other indulgent behaviors, was less than intriguing for us as well, as there served no purpose at all for us to include ourselves in these kinds of fêtes.

Still, we made an effort to converge as a family around Christmastime, at least, though we didn't give gifts nearly as consistently as we had done in the beginning.

But now, this being our first Christmas together as a married couple, I viewed the upcoming time with more enthusiasm than I had ever viewed it before.

Archie was only all too happy to involve himself in stringing lights and boughs of holly from every available surface. We bought a real Christmas tree and stood it in the front foyer. I baked every holiday treat and baked good I could think of, which I had been practically force-feeding to Beau and our classmates.

Beau remained—at least, to the outward eye—enthusiastic about spending the upcoming holidays with friends and family, though I'd become more and more worried about his slipping affect.

Surprisingly, since Thanksgiving, Renee's condition had neither improved nor decreased in stability whatsoever. I was checking in daily with Archie, hoping to hear some kind of development in the right direction, but he could never give me any definitive answers. Still, I was happy to hear she wasn't getting any worse, though we still didn't know what decision had triggered the vision Archie had seen on Halloween. Apart from her advanced age and the complications her low blood pressure and intense morning sickness had posed, there didn't seem to be any other risk factors to her pregnancy, which had left all of us satisfied, but nevertheless stumped.

I wished I could say the same for Beau, whose migraines reportedly never ceased, and had seemed to have wedged an interminable dagger into his skull that no amounts of pain medication, prescription or otherwise—he'd finally agreed to take them—could dampen. His lack of coordination continued to increase to worrying proportions; he could hardly hold a pencil, let alone walk across campus to classes. And though he'd always been clumsy, the caliber things had increased to were not normal in the least. I'd called any doctor I could contact to complain to, but they'd only continued to regurgitate the information they'd already given us: which was that they'd seen nothing on his most recent scans to find anything out of the ordinary.

Carine was waiting for a call back from one of her most prestigious colleagues that she'd worked with in Philadelphia a decade and a half ago—she was willing to endure the scrutiny and suspicion he'd invariably appraise her with—in order to help Beau. But this contact turned out to be unnecessary when Beau woke up on the fourteenth of December, the day he was scheduled to write his final exam.

I was downstairs making his breakfast, knowing he'd need a steady dose of protein to help him through the test, but he was taking longer to get moving this morning than usual. With less than half an hour to go until he was due on campus for his test, I went up to check on him.

I was surprised to find him still in bed, flat on his back, and was instantly struck by the expression of unbridled panic on his face. I hadn't seen him this distraught since Julie's injury after the battle.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, my tone spiking with my own alarm, kneeling by his side and smoothing his fringe away from his forehead. "Is it your head?"

I wondered if he'd be too ill to write the test, but resolved to talk to the Dean about excusing him.

"It's not my head," Beau told me numbly, and tossed his head back and forth, one of his hands unconsciously fisting into the material of my cashmere sweater. "It's my legs."

I peeled the covers back to examine his pajama'd hips and legs. "What's wrong? Are they sore?" I inquired, reaching to massage them. Something about the way he was laying didn't seem right to me.

He shook his head again. "No," he said, "I can't feel them."

.

Because it would have raised too many questions to have me carry Beau alone into the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Emergency Room, Archie supported his weight on one side, while I half-carried him on the other.

Jessamine trailed behind us, her cell phone pressed to her ear as she told Carine and Earnest what was happening.

It took an hour for the MRI machine to become available, which I thought was infuriatingly ridiculous, and paced too quickly up and down the hall while they scanned Beau's entire body.

"Are they complete and utter imbeciles?" I raged, pushing my fingers through my hair, "Do they know how much _more_ damage could have been done in the hour while we waited?!"

"Edy—" Archie started to say.

"What if it was something completely reversible that they _missed_ and can't be fixed now, because they _dawdled_ over the scan and—"

" _Edythe,_ " Archie said again, louder and more firmly.

At that moment, they wheeled Beau out of the room. Because there were too many eyes on us, I couldn't be back by his side as quickly as I wanted to be. He slipped his hand into mine as the orderlies wheeled us back to the emergency department.

We waited two more maddening hours before we were seen by a doctor.

 _"So sorry, we've had two life-flights come in this morning"_ my ass, I thought as the tall, thick-haired ginger doctor apologized profusely.

I stood with my spine rigidly erect, by Beau's bed, as the doctor got through his excuses, waiting, with no small amount of impatience and irritation, for his thoughts to turn toward the task at hand. Archie and Jessamine had left to write their exams, or else risk taking a zero. The school had had no tolerance for the fact that their adopted brother-in-law was in the hospital.

My brother and sister had promised to write their tests as quickly as _humanly_ possible, and then to return right away.

So it was just Beau and I in the room when the doctor walked in and delivered the horrible news, the possibility that I'd feared the most, ruminated over for far too long; so much so, in fact, that the news shouldn't have come as such a shock to me.

"It's a tumor," he said, Beau's file clutched in his white-knuckled fists, "The other scans must have missed it. It's small but mighty, peculiarly shaped so that it was able to hide 'in the shadows', so to say, of the previous scans. It's located almost exactly in the center of your brain, which explains the wide array of symptoms you've been having: Trouble with your memory, motor function, etcetera."

"Is it cancerous?" I blurted, launching into a role that was exhaustingly, heart wrenchingly familiar: liaison, protector, and guard. But my head was spinning—this wasn't something I could shelter my husband from; it wasn't a nomad intent on revenge this time. All of the obstacles we'd faced before now had had a simple cause and effect answer: no matter how difficult some of the decision-making had been. But now… What were we to do now?

"We don't know that it is or it isn't," the doctor replied now, "And we won't know unless we're able to get a biopsy. What we _do_ know is that the tumor is, unfortunately, inoperable. I'm afraid it's in a location where it's just too hazardous to poke around in. We'd risk catastrophic, multi-system errors if we were to attempt to proceed with removing it."

"When can the biopsy be performed?" I demanded, speaking almost too swiftly for human comprehension. I gritted my teeth, forcing my composure when confusion sounded in the man's mind.

"Well, of course, we'd like to do it as soon as possible, if you'll consent." He looked at Beau. "We would like to know whether it requires one form of treatment over the other. However, it doesn't come without its risks…"

"What are the other treatment options?" I asked, barely feeling Beau's fingers tighten around mine. "Will they help him to regain function of his legs?"

"Brains are intensely complicated organs, ma'am. I can't give you a definitive answer on that," the doctor told said, his tone maddeningly quiet and somber. He listed off some of the treatment options, which included radiation therapy, chemotherapy, steroid injections, and targeted and electric field therapy. Some of the measures were quite new, and I was beginning to feel even more lost at sea than I had felt up until this point. I'd acquired my medical degree in the late seventies—nearly forty years of advancement and research had occurred since then, leaving me no way to stay adequately up to date other than to be in the field itself.

I had never wanted my mother more than I did now.

The doctor did an exam, and then left us alone to discuss our options, and for the first time since the doctor had come in, Beau turned his eyes to my face, though my gaze had hardly left his profile the entire time.

I searched his face for any sign of anxiety, panic or irresoluteness, but I was surprised to find that he appeared quite serene. He smoothed his thumb over the back of my hand and smiled at me softly.

I was so consumed with despair, solutions I didn't know were rational or even possible rampaging through my head, and such a heavy sense of helplessness, that I wasn't aware enough of myself to know what my face was doing, or even to be able to control the expression on it. But it must have shown what I was feeling, because Beau spoke then.

"Hey," he said softly, and lifted a hand to stroke my cheek, "It's gonna be okay."

"How can you say that?" I barely breathed, hearing the shortness in my voice. Quickly overtaking the anxiety and despair was a deep-seated rage, directed at the doctors and hospital staff, but especially the physician we'd been seeing in his office for so many weeks. How had he _missed_ this? What could have been done if we'd found the tumor sooner? Could the possible permanent loss of Beau's leg function be linked back to his malpractice and wrong-doing?

I'd never entertained the thought of suing anyone before—there was such a large gap between human intelligence and ours, and we had to make allowances—but this I could not forgive. This had gone too far past my bounds of tolerance.

"The doctors are going to do their best to fix me," Beau said now, in that same, cavalier way.

"They didn't realize something was truly wrong until you lost the ability to walk, Beau. They—"

"And if they can't, then you will." Now there was a ferocity in his eyes, which otherwise would not have matched the seemingly contrasting peace in his voice. But I knew better. He had too much faith in me—a confidence in my abilities that I wasn't sure I could match.

.

"You need to tell him."

Archie and I spoke in the shadows at the end of the hall. They'd moved Beau up to the Oncology floor—which had us all assuming the worst, naturally—and he was asleep in one of the best rooms, down the hall. We had stepped out to wait for Carine and Earnest, who were to arrive at any minute now, and Archie had taken this opportunity to show me just how badly things would go if I chose not to divulge Renee's condition to Beau.

"No." I set my jaw stubbornly against Archie's prejudices. "It'll only make him feel worse."

"Edy, look at how it'll destroy him if he finds out after it's too late."

I couldn't contest the devastation I saw in Archie's next vision. Nevertheless, I stubbornly persisted.

"He needs to focus on his own wellbeing at present. The time will come to—"

"The time is now." Archie words were gentle, his ochre eyes soft on my face as he touched my arm. "We don't have much time left until a conclusion is reached, and he needs as much of that time to come to terms with it."

I gasped aloud at the swaying images in Archie's mind. Though the future was still mostly irresolute, his vision was beginning to darken, the outcomes more likely negative than before for the both of them. I felt my shoulders sag underneath the weight of the grief and heartbreak that struck me.

"He's stronger than you think he is."

I cut a glare at my brother, irritation flaring behind my sternum. "Please don't presume to know what's going through my mind," I snapped.

Archie kept his gaze level on mine, as quietly confident as I was coming unhinged. He was as confident in his perception of the outcome as I was as sure that I could sway both absolutions with equal fevered decision. After all, Archie's visions were only an outcome of one or more person's conclusion to follow through with any said choice, resulting in a thousand different outcomes. How different could this be, really? If I only _decided_ with enough devotion to the cause, I was certain I could change the projection of Archie's predicted outcomes.

Distantly, I heard Carine and Earnest's thoughts come into range, but I was already consumed by my internal reasoning.

If Beau went through with the surgery, though risky, I reasoned it would give him the best chance of coming out the other side with his desires still in mind. After all, since we'd been at Dartmouth, he had yet to express his desire to become immortal again. If it was a human life he still wanted, I was determined to give it to him.

Of course, Carine would offer more insight on the probable surgical outcomes than I could possibly garner on my own, but from past experiences I reasoned she would agree with me.

I knew Beau would choose the most logical solution.

With the matter of the procedure already decided in my mind, I knew it was only a matter of hours or, at the most, days until the surgery took place. With preparations underway, there would be no logic in ruining the likelihood of a successful outcome with the news of his mother's ailment.

Perhaps Archie was correct in that Beau deserved to know what was going on with his mother, especially while the rest of us were aware and he was not, but that could wait until after he'd recovered from the worst of the surgery.

If all went according to plan, the surgery would result in more than ninety percent success rate, and while we would then have Renee's impending life and death birth situation, I was sure we could find a way to level the odds in her favor as well. If all went according to plan, we'd be back to normal life by Christmastime.

.

 **A/N:** So there you guys have it—the diagnosis. For future reference, all chapters will be around this 3000 word mark. I know it's shorter than you're used to, but this is the nature of _my_ writing, and not more or less 'copying' Steph's.

Please let me know what you thought of this one, and I'll see you next time! xo

(P.S. Edythe, when do things _ever_ go according to plan?)


	15. Poisonous Influence

**A/N:** I feel like a broken record, constantly apologizing to you all for my extended leaves of absence from this story… But here it is again: I'm so sorry. I've been dealing with some health issues of my own, just as Beau is, and have had to take some time away to sort through them. No worries—all is well. But I feel bad for not explaining where I've been and such. In future, I'll make an effort to do that if it happens again. If you have time after reading this chapter, go on back over to Daybreak and read my updated **first** chapter. I've edited and revised a lot of it, _including_ an extension to the end of the chapter! So go check it out when you're done here :) As always, lots of love and appreciation for you all!

…

The night passed slowly, wrought with a strange undercurrent of tension. Beau did not sleep well, refusing the pain medications and sleep aids the nurses extended to him. Despite his unusual alertness, he remained very still, rolled onto his side and facing away from me. I didn't want to disturb him, but several times I could not help myself from inquiring as to his wellbeing.

"I'm fine," he always said, "Just can't sleep."

I didn't think this was altogether unusual. After all, it wasn't uncommon for humans to have trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar place, especially one inundated with so many grating sounds and interruptions throughout the night. As I thought this, Beau's night nurse came in to do her usual hourly set of vitals and checks. Everything about her was smart and straightforward. She'd been working in the field for over twenty years, and the automatic list she ran through barely registered in her mind—it had become so automatic to her.

A few times I asked Beau if he'd like me to sing to him; this usually helped him sleep when he'd had trouble in the past. But each time, he refused, claiming he was fine. But when I reached out to fold one of his hands in both of mine, I felt the tension in every tendon and muscle of his body, almost coming off him in tangible waves. He kept his face carefully blank when I moved around to the other side of his bed, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes, a wary expression I couldn't quite put a name to. Was it fear? Anxiety? Horror at the sudden turn our lives had taken? It didn't seem to be any of these things. Beyond the wariness in his eyes, there was an aura of almost serenity in his expression, and that concerned me. Was he in shock? Traumatized by the unforgivable diagnosis he'd been given? His vital signs seemed okay, but still. I couldn't be sure.

Before I could give it anymore thought, the unfathomable expression disappeared behind closed eyelids.

I began to sing quietly, even though he'd denied its necessity, and before long, his breathing evened out, his body relaxed, and I knew he'd fallen asleep. It was no wonder he could fight the exhaustion no longer—it was nearing five in the morning.

With his awareness finally diverted, I could freely allow myself to wallow in the pain and fear that his diagnosis had elicited. I watched the numbers on the monitors, baffled by their complete normality. How could it all look so unassuming? Where were the deficits? If it were not for his lack of functionality in his lower extremities, and the unending presence of the debilitating migraines, one would never suspect anything was wrong.

I sighed, and leaned forward to rest my brow against his, slack in unconsciousness, the furrows of pain and intense concentration gone while he remained in oblivion.

Outside, the dark was beginning to fade. Soon, the sun would rise, and with it, the doctors, surgeons and nurses charged with saving my husband's life. But more than any of that, I longed for my parents' advent, knowing their input and support would be invaluable. Later, my siblings would come to visit as well. Having the entire family together, I felt, would ease the burden some. But the weight of this horror-filled nightmare would not be relieved until the tumor was gone from Beau's brain.

Carine would have more advice for us, a better outlook than I could offer Beau. Again, I felt that extreme sense of insufficiency, that helpless awareness of indecision. With the day would come answers, and, hopefully, would also release us from the fist of this inescapable trauma.

.

My parents arrived a little after nine o' clock, and I met them in the doorway of Beau's hospital room. It felt incomparably comforting to have each of their arms around me, their words of assurance in my ears. It didn't matter how old someone was—speaking from experience, 105 years old myself—the exceeding support and advice from a parent was always appreciated.

"I'm sorry we couldn't be here sooner," Carine whispered as she embraced me. "One of my coworkers insisted on conveying us to the airport—for which we then had to book a liable flight. If not, we would have come on foot and have been with you much sooner."

"It's alright," I told her, pulling away and allowing Earnest to pull me into his arms. "You're here now."

"How is he, Edythe?" Earnest murmured as he squeezed me gently, "How are you?"

I let out a heavy breath as he pulled back and cupped my face in his hands. His clear topaz eyes gazed into mine, soft with compassion. Once again, the fatherly love he regarded not only me with, but Beau as well, struck me.

"I expect we'll both be doing better after the surgeon comes and talks with us. Even better once he's in the operating room."

Carine nodded, her eyes flicking up over my head and into the room where the lights remained darkened and the privacy curtain pulled around Beau's bed. Her thoughts were a blur of numbers, probability and medical jargon. I watched the expression on her face change as she lapsed from supportive mother-in-law to Dr. Cullen, surgeon.

Earnest took my hand as I led them back into the room.

Heedless to our repeated dissent, the nurse insisted on bringing in two more chairs so Carine and Earnest could 'sit comfortably'. The oncology floor was quiet this morning, allowing Beau the rest he needed.

While we waited for him to wake, I discoursed quietly with my parents, about Beau's condition at first, and my own, about Renee's pregnancy, and then onto lesser things, which were fundamentally easier to talk about, such as school, the house in Hanover, and what I knew of how Charlie was doing.

When Beau woke just before noon, it was with a sudden jerk. He glanced around wildly, panic flickering like blue flames in his eyes. Immediately, I moved to grasp his hand reassuringly, and his eyes settled on my face. Slowly, the apprehension drained from them as he registered my presence, and then that of my parents.

"Hey, guys. Thanks for coming," he finally said to them, his voice hoarse from the extended period of disuse. "Anyone else here yet?" His eyes flickered to the doorway, as if searching for someone in particular.

This left me a little confused, but I surmised he must have been talking about the team of doctors assigned to his case. "Your doctor came in around eight o' clock," I told him, "But he said he'd come back later once you were awake."

Beau nodded, his eyes still flicking about the room. "Anyone else?"

"No," I said, "We figured we'd let you tell Charlie what's going on… Were you expecting anyone in particular?" I tried to make this question come off as humorous teasing, but the way he examined my face with such sudden, intense severity, made me wonder if he was.

Before I could question it, he chuckled a little and said, "No. No one." He dropped his gaze to the sheet laying folded neatly over his waist, and picked at a loose thread.

A beat of awkward silence passed, in which I realized I wasn't the only one to note Beau's strange behavior upon waking.

 _Then again,_ Carine thought, _Momentary panic and confusion are quite normal symptoms of a brain tumor._

"How are you feeling?" I asked him now, "Has any sensation returned to your legs yet?" I laid a hand on his shin, which remained limp and unresponsive underneath my touch.

Beau shook his head. "Not yet."

I couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that dropped like a leaden weight in my stomach, but was careful not to let the expression show on my face. Instead I smiled softly at him and squeezed his hand.

"It will," I assured him.

He nodded non-committedly, but said no more on the subject. "Did the doctor say anything when he came in earlier?"

"No," I said, "He said we'd talk when you could be an active participant in the conversation."

He nodded again, this time with considerably more conviction.

.

The momentary reprieve that came with my parents' arrival was subsequently trampled by the arrival of my siblings. The four of them came in together, their conjoined, fluctuating thoughts all entering my mind at once.

I reached out, searching for Archie in particular, and froze as I heard what he was thinking.

Beau's prospects had changed considerably from what my brother had seen the night before. Some sort of cosmic shift had occurred in one of the too many moving parts of the equation, eliciting a rift so large in the outcome that it could not be bridged or moved around. And yet, with the gap looming so large in front of us, there was also the sense of coming up against a brick wall, unyielding and non-compliant, with no way to prevail over it. What had changed? _Why_?

Archie was focusing so greatly on the course of his new brother's proceedings that nothing else entered his realm of recognition. Jessamine had him by the hand, leading him through the halls, but he registered none of it, focusing instead on this heedless gap, this insurmountable wall. The effort was so great that it caused him physical pain—not only grief and anxiety, but the clanging cymbals of a headache so profound that it had me pulling my mind away from his, shying from the pain his concentration elicited myself.

 _What is it?_ Earnest wondered, seeing me wince.

"They're here," I murmured, lacing my fingers through Beau's once again.

But as he heard my words, he seemed to jerk his hand away from mine. When I looked into his face again, I could see, once more, the unfathomable expression in his eyes. Why was he hiding himself from me? I wondered, suddenly realizing that this was what he was doing. The emotion in his eyes was guarded, wary, and I didn't know why.

My siblings drew nearer to the room now, each of their thoughts revolving around the concern and worry they had for Beau.

Jessamine struggled to keep her emotions in check, overwhelmed with everyone else's worry as well as her own. Hospitals were a difficult place for her to find herself in, anyway, without so many people revolving around one person, a person whom she also loved like a brother. Trying to push the others' emotions aside, she pinned her attentions on her husband, attempting to beat the anxiety back with calm so she could help relieve his pain and confusion.

Eleanor was just as worried for her brother as the rest of us were. As common as the emotion was, it was unusual for her to be so serious about it. But when I focused more intently on her mind, I could hear the wonderings behind the concern. She was rifling through her long list of hospital jokes, in search of something that would ease the tension that was sure to envelope the room in a moment.

Royal's thoughts caught me off guard. As intense as the undercurrent of his thoughts were, focused very intently on something, the overlying musings were wild and unclear, jumping from here to there with about as much accuracy as a newborn giraffe's first steps. I was no Empath, but it was usually easy for me to detect the tone of emotion through the rhythm of thought—especially if I knew the person well, as I knew my siblings. But Royal's thoughts were so irretrievably wild and unclear, I couldn't tell _what_ he was feeling. Anxiety? Anger?

Images of Beau filled his head several times in conjunction with this inconceivable thought process, and I felt my mood darken in response to this, rising to my feet as he drew closer to the room. Why was he feeling so strongly about Beau? Was he somehow jealous of the attention he was receiving, despite the horrible reasons behind it? It would be just like him to make this about himself, I thought bitterly.

I remained stoic, ready to defend Beau against the sinister workings of my brother's mind.

"All of them?" Beau asked now, glancing toward the door with that same sense of apprehension he'd had before, and it suddenly clicked. Was he worried about Royal being in the same room as him, as vulnerable and weak as he was in his condition? Was he afraid Royal would try to attack him? He wouldn't dare.

"Yes," I told him gently, "They're just around the corner."

His heartbeat picked up, thrumming with… What? Anxiety at the thought of seeing Royal? Anticipation at the thought of seeing Archie? I couldn't tell.

Just then, my siblings entered the room, slipping through the door single-file, one by one coming to surround the bed.

"Hey, man," Beau said as I kept my eyes fixed on my blond brother's face, still struggling to make sense of the riotous cacophony inside his head, "Good to see you."

I had assumed Beau was talking to Archie, but found myself rather surprised when Archie stopped at the foot of Beau's bed, sinking almost unconsciously into a nearby chair, fingers against his eyelids, elbows on his knees. If Beau had been speaking to him, he didn't acknowledge the greeting… But Beau _hadn't_ been speaking to Archie as I had assumed. Instead, I watched in confusion as Royal rounded the bed, stopped by his head, and put a large hand on Beau's shoulder.

When the two of them came into contact, Royal's true thoughts broke loose, spilling forth like an arterial hemorrhage, like a landslide crashing over me, smothering me beneath its weight.

 _It's his choice,_ _ **his**_ _choice and no one else's! I won't let them con him into the same life I was forced into. He's made his choice—he wants to stay human. This is something that happens to humans… Let it happen._

Where I had stood frozen on the other side of the bed, the hot gush of fury through my desiccated veins animated me once more. In half a second, I was on the other side of the bed, stretched to my full height so that I could glare into Royal's face with all the animosity and rage I'd ever felt.

In contrast, I laid my hand, exceedingly gentle, on Beau's forearm, the same side on which Royal's fingers curled over his shoulder, as firm as a steel vice.

"Let him go, Royal," I spat venomously.

He said nothing, instead only stared down at me, unhampered, unthreatened and utterly unmoving. I rifled through his head, tearing through thought after thought with the frenzied anger of one searching through a closet for a vital piece of information.

There was a resolve there, a fortitude unbreaking, a plan to protect "Beau's _Choice_ "—whatever the hell absurdity Royal had brought himself to believe over this—at all cost. There was also a glowing sense of redemption, a firm purpose to present Beau with this opportunity he, himself, had never had. The decision between immortal damnation, and a peaceful human death.

Anger like I had never experienced, hate as I had never felt, blurred my vision blood red. For an instant, I contemplated tearing his head from his shoulders. As if El had suddenly gained the ability to read _my_ thoughts, I felt her step up behind me, ready to defend her husband.

"How _could_ you?" I spat at him, my whole body vibrating with rage, "I will not let you brainwash him into some sort of complacency toward a completely avoidable tragedy!"

Still, he didn't say anything. The only decipherable movement was a narrowing of his eyes at me.

He thought purposefully, directionally, of a recent phone conversation.

 _"You gotta help me, Royal… I don't want the surgery."_

Beau's words.

Beau's objectives.

 _You really are that stupid, aren't you?_ he sneered at me in his head.

I stared up into Royal's face, seeing my expression of unbridled fury melt into one of mortified shock in his thoughts. All this while I thought Beau had been so traumatized by this finding, when from the beginning he'd been planning and conceiving… And somewhere along the way, he'd discovered the secret we'd all been trying to keep from him!

I wheeled on Archie, ready to pin my horrified anger on somebody, _any_ body.

" _You_!" I hissed.

The rest of my family unfroze then. Carine moved to my side, and Eleanor squeezed her way between her husband and myself, working her hand into his free one.

"What's the matter?" Carine demanded calmly, her eyes flashing back and forth between my face, Royal's and Beau's. "What are the rest of us missing?"

Royal shifted his glare from my face to our mother's, knowing, just as well as the rest of us did, where her opinion on the matter of surgical intervention would lie.

"No one is going to force Beau under the knife. Not when he doesn't want it."

Carine didn't so much as blink. Her mind registered nothing but the reverberation of her son's words for a moment, before shock quickly gave way to disapproval, and then bleak conclusion that hit me like a blow to the gut. She was utterly confident of the way things would go if Beau did not receive treatment for the tumor.

Archie made a small sound from his chair, and Jessamine rubbed his shoulders comfortingly.

I felt as if I might collapse from this revelation. I hadn't considered… Hadn't imagined… And who had told him about Renee? Who had made this call of all calls that would undoubtedly sway his opinion?! I understood that he would worry for his mother, that any normal person would when faced with such a dilemma, but Beau's self-effacing qualities went above and beyond the realm of any other human I had met! I had known this from the beginning, and so had the rest of my family! Whoever had told him must have known it would effect the probability of his acceptance of the surgical procedure!

The picture shifted, curling in on itself, a nightmare within a nightmare.

I turned to look at Beau for the first time since Royal had entered the room. He stared up at me, unflinching, unblinking. And suddenly, I recognized it. The emotion in his eyes, the expression on his face that I had been unable—unwilling?—to see last night. Resolve. Commitment to the course he and Royal had decided upon.

"Beau," I said in a low voice, reaching out to take his hands, "Please, talk to me about this. Alone," I added, flicking my gaze up to Royal momentarily before pinning my beseeching gaze back on his.

Beau hesitated, not returning the fervent grip with which I held his hands, and looked up at Royal, who shook his head side to side minutely. When he returned his eyes to mine, they had changed again. There was a stabbing combination of mistrust, suspicion and doubt in his eyes, something I'd never seen directed at myself before. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't think… That's a good idea," he said quietly.

I felt the fire of hatred flare again within my chest, all of it directed at Royal and whoever had made this most grievous of calls to tell Beau about his mother.

"Beau," I pleaded, my voice breaking with the stress I was under. I felt my fingers tighten around Beau's, too tightly, and forced myself to relax my grip. Only to cling to Royal's wrist, wrenching it into a twist, wondering if I would be able to snap it off—and break his hold on Beau's shoulder—without attracting attention from the nurse's station outside.

He snarled at me, and Eleanor took a step toward me, a foreboding expression of warning on her face.

In an instant, Carine laid her hand over mine where it gripped Royal's wrist.

"That's enough," she said sternly, just before there was an awkward throat clearing in the doorway.

I had been so focused by my anger that I hadn't noticed the approaching group of humans. The Head of Neurology, Dr. Addante, stood in the doorway with his clipboard, a cluster of nervous students hesitating in the hallway behind him.

"Is this a good time?" he asked casually.

Carine shot me and my brother a motherly look that brooked no argument, too fast for the neurosurgeon to interpret, and then turned toward him, smiling, while she pried my hand from Royal's arm.

"Yes, Doctor, no better time, in fact."

He smiled and stepped into the room, followed by his gaggle of students, and my mother stepped forward to shake his hand. "Dr. Carine Cullen," she introduced herself, "So glad to meet you, Dr. Addante. I've heard so many wonderful things about your work."

"Likewise," Dr. Addante said, star-struck and awed by both her unearthly beauty as well as her famed status as a doctor.

As the doctor approached the bed, my siblings were forced to pull back to allow him room to do his work, but stubbornly, Royal and I stayed where we were, forcing him to work around us, neither of us willing to relax our posts as guard.

He completed a quick but thorough neurological check, and then a muscle function test of the extremities.

"Well, it doesn't look like the paralysis has progressed past your legs, my boy," he began, "Which is good news. In fact, much looks the same as when you came in yesterday, according to Dr. Marrow's report. Of course, since then, the case has been passed onto me, so I'll be the smiling face you see from now on." He smiled down at Beau now, who offered a half-smile in return.

"Now, I understand some options were given to you yesterday," he continued. "Have we… Come to a conclusion on that, yet?" He remembered the conflict he'd walked in on, and thought not, but presented the question as a matter of formality anyway.

"I have," Beau said immediately. "I don't want the surgery."

I bit back the groan of anguish. "Beau—" I said, but was interrupted.

"It's his life," Royal growled under his breath, "Let him make his choice."

"You're forgetting that I'm his _wife_ ," I spat back at him, "It is _not_ only his life that will be affected!"

As the argument once again began to gain momentum, the doctor stood and cleared his throat. "I can see things haven't been decided yet. It's clear some differing sides need their opinions known. Beau, everything is looking fine right now, so why don't I give you all a few more hours to discuss things? This isn't a decision easily made," he said sympathetically, and then left us on our own.

Silence filled the room once the group had left, none of us moving to speak. I searched Beau's face for even a hint of doubt or concession, but could find nothing to even speak of.

"Beau," I whispered once more.

He gazed at me, his face fraught with worry, but his bright blue eyes glowed with a passion and assurance that was staggering. "Edythe," he replied, "I don't want the surgery… When you jumped so quickly at the option, I knew Carine would agree with you, and even then I had my doubts, but…" He paused to swallow, and gave Archie an apologetic glance, "When Archie told me about my mom, it only solidified my decision… I didn't know…" He shook his head, almost to himself. "I _knew_ you wouldn't listen to me, or let me explain. So I called Royal." His voice broke as his face crumpled in misery, and his eyes dropped from mine. This left me reeling, clinging for some sort of life raft in this suddenly turbulent sea of emotion.

I knew it was vital I talk with Beau alone, to get him away from Royal and his horribly prejudiced opinions. It was understandable Beau might be ruled by his emotions right now, especially faced with the prospect of losing his mother. He wouldn't want to put himself in any less of an accessible position than he was now. He'd want to be by her side… But in refusing the surgery, he was also refusing a considerable probability of coming out the other side with no lasting deficits. It was unfair for Royal to play on his emotions like this, and I felt that familiar, fierce protective instinct rise up inside me again.

Carine's opinion on the matter, highly in favor of the surgery, only motivated me to strive for it more. If her medically qualified mind weighted it so heavily against the other treatment options, there had to be considerable benefit in going through with it.

 _Edythe, you need to get him alone,_ she thought now, seeing the confliction on his face, _Make him see reason. If there's an opportunity to get Royal away from him…_

I saw then, just how severe this looked, in my mother's mind. Her own fear spurred my own, for she saw very little hope for Beau if he did not ultimately choose to go through with the surgery.

 _The risks of the surgery are far less overwhelming than if we do nothing… The tumor will only grow, compress more nerves and the other parts of his brain, resulting in further paralysis, greater pain, a higher degree of memory loss, and before long, the compression on the other parts of his brain will lead to motor functionality, hearing and speech abilities, and, eventually, essential mechanisms for life-sustaining processes…_

I shut her out, not wanting to hear anymore of it. It was one thing to fear these outcomes myself, but to have her confirm it… Coupled with the sanction from Beau that he did not want this life-saving surgery was just too painful to bear.

I had been so _blind_! All these hours of waiting, I had tragically mistaken what was going on in Beau's head. And now, that precious time out from underneath Royal's oppressive eye was lost. Time to convince him of the benefits, time to assure him that Renee would be fine, time to make him see reason, logical judgment, before he'd heedlessly given himself over to this insanity. If I had known this was where he stood, I would have begged and pleaded with him to let the doctors save anything resembling his life before irreparable damage could be done.

I had seen paralysis reversed in the operating theatre, had seen the miracles that simple, mundane humans could perform. But if Beau let this monstrosity in his brain continue to grow beyond acceptable parameters, who knew how much more irreparable damage it would cause… Damage not even vampire venom would be able to cure?

Instead, not knowing, I had welcomingly invited the worst person possible into this room, the only person twisted enough to encourage his resolve in this deadly matter!

And now, consumed with panic, I could see the dying probability of my success. Beau was so stubborn, had always been stubborn… What if I was unable to convince him to see reason? Even without Royal's incessant presence feeding the madness?

I needed to get him alone, away from Royal, as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It was the only way. And if it was the only way, I was willing to go to any length of extreme to accomplish it.

Carefully, I shifted my eyes to Royal's face. He only had one hand on Beau's shoulder, and his fingers were relaxed there, merely resting. His eyes were fixed on Eleanor's face, his free hand locked in hers, as they communicated with each other silently, Royal working to communicate the necessity of this stand-off with only expression and the touch of their hands. It was obvious he hadn't made her away of his stance on the matter before now.

The sudden terror that gripped me in its clutches was so strong that I could think of nothing else.

 _Do it now!_ my mind screamed at me, convinced that if I did not take this opportunity, another might not present itself.

My muscles coiled to spring. If I aimed my attack just right, I could dislodge Beau from underneath Royal's oppressive hand and whisk him from the room, IV pole and catheter bag in tow. With luck on my side, Eleanor would not follow, and Carine would be able to convince Royal long enough to let me say what I needed to say to Beau— _if_ he wasn't too far under Royal's poisonous influence already.

Carine could see the tensing of my ready muscles. I couldn't risk taking my eyes off of my brother long enough to look at her, but her words of confirmation in my head gave me enough motivation.

I launched myself at my brother just as Archie's words tore through my mind like an air raid siren.

 _No, Edythe, stop! You'll hurt him!_

And my mind filled with Archie's vision, clear and vivid, of Beau being crushed in the struggle between me and Royal.

A very unladylike word swirled through my head as Eleanor snapped her head around just in time, throwing herself in front of my brother. I didn't fight against her as she shoved me, hard, away from the bed. I slid several feet backwards, the heels of my boots squealing across the floor, leaving blackened gouges in the linoleum.

Carine immediately stepped in front of Eleanor, gripping her by the arms, and Earnest hovered between her and me, ready to restrain me if need be. But I had my hands up, palms forward, and he saw the expression of concession on my face quickly.

Past the three of them, Royal remained where he had been, unmoving as a statue, with his glare fixed on my face. He didn't trust me to be alone with Beau, now more than ever before. The fury and determination in his expression was clear as day.

I shifted my gaze from his eyes, narrowed into slits, rageful, to Beau's. His clear blue eyes were wide with confusion and concern, not having processed the motion of events that had put me across the room from him amidst a crash like boulders and the squeal of shredding linoleum. But I also saw a flash of what I could only assume was fear… Fear of me?

He looked away too quickly.

 _Patience, Edy,_ Archie cajoled. _We'll have to choose our moment wisely._

I glanced at him, where he and Jess were standing by the foot of the bed, and took grim satisfaction in his words and the unspoken promise beneath them. We stood together, our love and devotion—different, but fierce just the same—for Beau binding us. He murmured something in Jessamine's ear, and she nodded, her yellow eyes fierce on mine. She would help us as well, along with Carine. It was the numbers I needed.

Now I just needed to wait for the right moment.

.

 **A/N:** And there you go! The next update! Let me know what you thought if you're so inclined, and I'll see you guys next time! xo


	16. Decline

**A/N:** Hi, everyone. Lots of mixed reviews on the last chapter! Hoping this one offers some clarity!

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Notwithstanding the cacophony of thought buzzing between my ears—both mine and that of my family's—the room was silent for an extended stretch of time.

The only thing I was acutely aware of was the touch of Beau's fingers, after a time, against mine. Soft and warm, but I could feel the strength of the grip with which he held my hand in his, and it gave me the courage to look, finally, up into his face.

"It doesn't make sense," he finally said, voice quiet and rough from the long period of disuse.

"No," I agreed, bewildered, "It doesn't."

But he shook his head at me, frustration in the undulating cerulean of his eyes. "No," he whispered. "You don't get it."

 _Get what?_ I wondered. Was I expected to comprehend any part of this? I could fully empathize with the bond Beau shared with his mother, but the selfish part of me objected at this sudden turn things seemed to have taken. He'd promised a forever spent with me! What had happened to the strident pleas on his part? The unwavering, fortified determination to become immortal by my side, no matter how high the precipice of challenge presented?

When had any of that changed?

I felt my eyes burn with the tears that were impossible to cry—my tear ducts dried up and desiccated by the rampage of venom through my system so many years ago.

My breath hitched in my throat, an unbidden sob.

"Then tell me," I pled, leaning forward so that only his face filled my vision, held all my focus. "Because I don't understand any of what you're saying, Beau. It sounds to me like you'd rather _die_ than have this surgery."

His eyes dropped from mine, and my soul cried out at the absence of this point of connection. I was sitting close enough to see each drawn breath tremble against his lower lip. The furrow between his brows was heavily pronounced as I waited for his next words.

"I think you're all confused," he murmured quietly. "I don't want the surgery… but I don't want to die, either."

"But, Beau, can you not see—?"

"There has to be some middle ground we can agree on, Carine," he interrupted her, his voice stronger as he glanced up to meet her gaze. "But if you're asking me to go through with something that, sure, _might_ give me my legs back—might not—but also might leave me like some sort of wilted vegetable that even… Even venom might not fix?" His voice faltered here, thickened by sudden and poignant emotion.

Carine opened her mouth to argue this point, but Beau continued on, ignoring her despite the emotion that caught and hitched in his voice.

"Well, I just can't bring myself to take that chance… My mom needs me right now, me and Phil to be by her side… She doesn't need to be going through all these issues with the pregnancy on top of worrying about me. If we just wait—"

"How are you going to be by her side if you can't even _walk_ , Beau?" I blurted, my tone shrill with outraged hysteria. "How will it be any assurance to her, to see you put aside your own health in favor of only watching hers deteriorate?"

He flinched at this, but the rebuttal of emotion flaring in his eyes quickly replaced the pain in his expression, and his next words were fierce with passion.

"She's strong. She'll make it through this. And the baby, too."

I felt Earnest step up behind me then, and one hand eased over my shoulder. The other rested atop Beau's free hand.

I drew an audible breath at the conclusion my father had come to in his own mind.

 _How can he leave his family in their time of need, when his outcome is all but insured, but theirs is not?_

He believed entirely in the power of the venom that had saved his life, and the rest of ours. His confidence that whether the surgery came or not did not matter. He knew, with an all-encompassing peace that surpassed understanding, that Carine and I would be able to save Beau in time.

"I understand your concern completely, Beau," he said, his voice soft and quiet, but nevertheless strong with conviction. "If you don't want to go through with the surgery, then I'll support you in your decision."

I heard Jessamine's lips pop open in surprise, and saw the smug grin that graced Royal's too perfect face.

"No!" I protested, too loudly. "Beau, you _need_ this surgery! Carine—please, tell him!"

Beau was shaking his head, but my mother stepped forward anyway.

"In my medical opinion, Beau, surgery _is_ our best option," she agreed. "The risk factors are certainly present, as they are in any surgical procedure, but I think you'd be surprised to hear that in normal cases, these surgeries really can be quite successful."

"In normal cases!" Royal scoffed, finally speaking up. "What the hell is _normal_ about a brain tumor? I'll be damned if—"

"As far as I'm concerned, you already are damned," I hissed at him, the words escaping through my teeth too quickly for Beau to comprehend.

"Wait, Roy." Beau held up a hand. "I think you must have misunderstood, too. I never said I wanted to let this thing _kill me_."

Some of the familiar Beau I knew came to life in his expression once more, and a frisson of relief curled its warm fingers over my shoulders, loosening the coil of muscles there.

However, had any blood remained in my brother's body, I felt it would most certainly have flushed in its entirety into his face now. For he _had_ misinterpreted Beau's intentions, just as I had.

"Say we try the radiation," Beau went on, his tone placating, "Or the injections or the chemo, or one of the others. I'm not saying we'll forego treatment at _all_ … I'm not stupid. But…" And now he turned to me, his eyes wide and filled to the brim with heart-wrenching supplication. "I need to see my mom before I take any chances, before any of these choices, immortality included, take me away from her forever. I have to know… To know she's alright."

For a moment, I was unable to speak—faced with the prodigious strength of emotion in his eyes.

"She's in the best of hands," I finally said, squeezing his hand. "Carine's made sure of it… I've seen the magnitude of your resilience, Beau. I've witnessed first-hand the strength of your determination and fortitude, your will to _live_. I know only some of it comes from your father. Your mother most certainly passed much of that onto you, as I've seen the same fortitude and strength in her, myself… But you're not thinking clearly, love. It's only normal to think in polar extremes, given the situation. Your survival instinct kicks in when faced with something like this, and it's the only way you _can_ think… But you _need_ to focus on your own wellbeing at present."

He shook his head stubbornly. "I need to talk to her before we make anymore decisions."

I turned my gaze on my mother, then. I didn't know if it was possible to transfer Beau to the hospital his mother was currently being treated in, nor that she was well enough to travel to New Hampshire, herself.

For a moment, Carine rested her eyes on my face, and I drank in their calm, level-headed clarity. Then she turned to Beau.

"I'll see what I can do."

.

A simple phone call between Beau and Renee seemed to ease Beau's levels of agitation quite nicely. I knew, of course, that not everything could be solved by avenue of telephone lines, but I could see enough of a palpable response in the set of Beau's shoulders, jaw and hands to know that talking to his mother, hearing her voice, helped ease his concern some.

Of course, Renee continued to insist that she really was fine, that the doctors were looking after her and the child within her womb.

"They're thinking of delivering the baby soon," she told him, and even I could hear the excitement in her voice. The affect of her anticipation was so strong that even I felt myself react to the promises and assurances she made—even though we knew better. Nothing had changed in Archie's vision; the outcome remained the same for whatever reason we were missing.

However, Beau ended the conversation with his mother on a happy note, and I found myself bolstered by the hope that simple daily phone calls would keep him placated enough to agree upon a half-effectual treatment plan regarding the growth underneath his skull.

It wasn't long after that Dr. Addante returned, this time without his entourage of medical students and residents.

I felt a great deal of respect and appreciation for the young doctor as he pulled a chair up to Beau's bedside, and took the time to really talk to us about treatment options, taking into account Beau's decisions and hesitations, of course, but also listening to what I had to say as well, knowing how close the bonds of marriage made two people. It was very clear in his mind that he would feel the same way if it had been him and his wife in this situation. I believe it also lessened Beau's stress considerably for my siblings and parents to be absent from the room during this discussion, though I would have preferred to have my mother's opinion present.

"Of course," the doctor was saying now, "surgery is the usual treatment for brain tumors, but it doesn't always have to happen that way... What I would strongly recommend, however, is that we go ahead with the biopsy. Otherwise, we won't know what we're dealing with."

Beau nodded, but I could still see the apprehension on his face.

"Am I correct, Doctor, in assuming that the procedure used to procure a biopsy is of much lesser risk than an operation to remove the tumor?"

Dr. Addante nodded. "That's right." He looked from me to Beau. "I understand this is one of your concerns, Beau, and I can assure you that biopsies rarely produce a negative outcome. In fact, there are even a couple of different ways we could go about it."

The doctor proceeded to explain the run of the mill formula, which involved cutting a hole in the skull and then removing a piece of the tumor so that it could be examined by a pathologist.

"That'll help us decide which treatment option we want to use. In most cases, if our patient consents to a full removal, we'll still do the biopsy—just in case we need to run a dose of chemotherapy to be sure the growth doesn't come back. In your case, we could also certainly do something called a stereotaxis, which is just a fancy way of saying we'll use a needle instead. It is, by far, much less invasive. You'll have a quicker recovery time, less need for pain management afterward, and the biopsy return will be about the same amount of time, which will then lead us to our available treatment options. But again." He sat forward and patted Beau on the hand. "Let's take things one at a time, eh? Get the biopsy done this afternoon and figure out the rest somewhere down the road?"

Though dark in opacity, Dr. Addante's eyes were bright and friendly and—maybe most importantly—confident.

"Sure," Beau said, "That sounds good."

The weight I felt I'd been bearing on my chest all morning seemed to lift at this assent. With one obstacle out of the way, we were one step closer to putting an end to this medical calamity, and another to having Beau well and healed.

.

The general consensus was that moving Beau or Renee was not a plausible option. Renee was surrounded by the best high risk OB-GYN's of the generation at her women's' hospital in Florida. And while moving Beau might have been an option, his team of doctors strongly suggested against it. Carine agreed that the best neurosurgeon did reside in this hospital, if Beau did in fact change his mind about the surgery.

In the end, this didn't wind up mattering anyway. In the end, they both declined too quickly to have made a transfer possible at any rate.

Though the stereotaxis "went off without a hitch" as the doctor reported, on his third morning in the hospital, Beau woke up with a fever and a cough. Immediately, Carine feared it was nosocomial pneumonia, and her suspicions were confirmed hours later when the test results came back.

They did what they could, starting him on antibiotics as soon as they were aware of the infection, but it soon became obvious that the tumor had somehow compromised the function of his immune system. The infection rampaged through his body with a stronger vengeance than any I'd ever known, including that of a certain flame-haired murderous vampire I'd ended the spring before.

In the evening, adding insult to injury, Beau's dinner tray abandoned by the sink, Dr. Addante came in to report to us the news that Beau's tumor was, indeed, cancerous.

"We won't begin any treatment until your body is fully healed from this infection you have brewing," he told Beau, "But I'd strongly recommend we try radiation first. Chemotherapy, of course, is also an option, but it's best to wait awhile after an illness to go ahead with putting those types of immunosuppressant drugs in your system. So, for now, you just focus on clearing out those lungs, and I'll be in to see you again tomorrow. Sound good, Beau?"

Beau nodded from his hospital bed, where he'd been tossing and turning most of the day. No amount of cool hands or damp cloths seemed to be able to ease his discomfort. His face held an unhealthy flush, despite the pale line that surrounded his lips.

Almost in direct accordance with Beau's declining health, so did Archie's visions of Renee begin to darken considerably, as well. It was around two o' clock in the morning when Phil sent a brief text message, alerting us that they were rolling Renee into the Operating Room to deliver the baby, due to complications.

By mid-morning the next day, I still hadn't heard anything from him, but Archie's vision was enough to give me my answers.

"How do we tell him?" I moaned into Archie's shoulder, from where we were standing in the hallway. Finally having succumbed to the exhaustion the infection fed into his body, he'd been sleeping deeply enough when the news came that he hadn't noticed Archie nor I slip out of the room.

"I don't know." My brother's voice was hollow over my head. There was an odd aura of numbness to his thoughts now as he regarded Renee's empty future. As far as his Sight told him, she'd survived the emergency caesarian, but had suffered an amniotic embolism during, which had left her comatose and unresponsive to anything the doctors had tried heretofore. "It doesn't look good right now. For either of them."

As dim as Renee's future had grown—an odd, tingling darkness, no echo of sound or sensation present—Beau's was steadily darkening as well.

This morning, in the midst of our discovery about Renee, they'd switched his antibiotics, finding the former made no difference. Since the first dose had gone through nearly six hours earlier, no change had been made.

During their most recent check, Beau had reported a severe headache and neck stiffness, which had the nurses and doctors worrying about secondary meningitis. Further testing was sent off thus, and we were still waiting on those results.

It was then, as I walked back into the room with, seemingly, the weight of the world on my shoulders, that Beau began to seize.

.


	17. Visitor

**A/N:** Hi, everyone. Back again. Hope you're all having a fabulous summer! xo

.

I knew I must have shown no outward signs of exhaustion, or strain of any kind beyond the emotional—it registered in every nurse and doctor's mind that I encountered over the course of the next week—but on the inside I felt utterly raw, every nerve ending frayed and exposed, and all of us—myself, my family, maybe even Beau, if he was the slightest bit aware—remained suspended in this horrible purgatory.

 _"We've put him in a medically induced coma,"_ the doctor had needlessly explained days ago, _"It was our only means of stopping the seizures."_

Now, I watched the monitor that measured the pressure inside his skull, the very thing that had started this all.

 _"We won't know the extent of the damage all of this has caused until—he wakes."_

Dr. Addante had maintained a well-rehearsed façade of professionalism, but even if I hadn't been able to hear his thoughts, I would have filled the pause with the unspoken word within it: _If_.

This couldn't be the end of us, I found myself thinking again and again. How had everything gone awry so quickly?

First Renee, who had succumbed to the amniotic embolism two days ago, and the baby, who thus remained stable but under observation in the NICU, and now… This. How much more were we going to lose?

The enormity of that one word— _this_ —weighed more heavily on my shoulders than anything in this world, it seemed, ever had. _This_. It was all there was, all that mattered, all that even occurred to me.

Always, our lives, inexorably intertwined, had rested on the thin tip of a blade—swinging back and forth between the dual consequence of bone-quivering fear and blood-hot desire. Now that we'd begun the inevitable plummet over the precipice, I could not find it within myself to regret the decision I'd made on a damp winter night so many, many months ago.

I'd accepted the fact that I may be damned forever for the life I'd led, the choices I'd made that had led me to that place. At least I could be reassured that here, now, Beau's spirit remained unmolested, pure and light.

If there wasn't a place for us to be together… after… I could only hope he, at least, would find peace.

For the millionth time, I leaned forward and laid my head on Beau's prone form, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my forehead, hearing the augmented, unfamiliar rhythm of his breath and lungs.

I was so hypnotized by the even beat of his heart, in fact, so consumed by the whirling vortex of looming death, that I didn't hear the approaching thoughts—jumbled as they were—until the footsteps accompanied them, drawing nearer to the crypt-like room where we sat, waiting…

 _Isn't this all a little… Over the top? Stupid, dramatic bloodsuckers. How far are they really willing to take the lies, to convince the docs to give him a real bed in this joint? Lord knows Beau can't act…_

Julie Black was not convinced Beau was as sick as Charlie had said he was. Beau's father had been calling Earnest every day for an update, but with how capricious the situation remained, we hadn't thought it in anyone's best interest to invite Charlie to visit his son. So we had maintained the formerly instituted façade of the mysterious, very contagious disease Beau had caught, and maintained the no visitors periphery. There was no telling how quickly things could change, necessitating the commencement of the change— _if_ he could be saved, a small part of my mind despaired… If the seizures had destroyed his neurological impulses, had curdled his brain beyond recognition, would there _be_ anyone in there left to save…?

Julie, however, who saw past the placations and necessary falsifications my parents had been feeding to Charlie and to Phil, had not been as easily restrained. She had come against Sam's orders, who had told her, rightfully—however baseless it may be now—that we were no longer their concern, my family had left Forks, if not for good, then at least for another half century, until the current generation of wolves moved on, allowing them to go home… If things ended the way I thought they might, then Beau and I would not be a part of that homecoming.

But Julie, like a dog with a bone, had not been able to let it go. I could sense how it tore her heart to shreds to even face the prospect of coming here, and the possibility of seeing her worst fears come to life. However, she'd had to do it, to know that he, at least, was safe and alive—granted, those weren't the exact words she'd used, but I understood completely. I would have done the same, if I were in her place.

I didn't look up when she reached the doorway, saw all of the machinery, Beau motionless and rent full of tubes on the bed, and me—hunched next to him, his hand folded between both of mine.

Sudden and blinding rage—and severely misplaced assumption—filled her mind, the emotions so potent that I could not detect a single comprehensible thought. For a long minute, she stood behind me, fists clenched, as she struggled to make sense of the scene in front of her.

Finally, enough command returned so that I could hear her inner voice once more.

 _How_ _ **dare**_ _they?! What—he couldn't play along well enough so they drugged him up and knocked him out?! He's not even breathing on his own!_ She seethed, noticing the ventilator. _I knew they were sick and demonic, but_ _ **this**_ _needlessly cruel?! To pin him down and metaphorically gag him, just so they can_ _ **pretend**_ _his death?!_

"There is no pretending." I had no strength to utter the words above a whisper, no will to turn away from the man in front of me—my life, my heart, my reason for existing. "How I wish this was all a ruse, as you believe it is, Julie Black."

For the first time, she noticed the expression in my profile, registered the deadly rhythm of my spoken words.

 _Not hoarse,_ she mused numbly, _But like she's been tortured._

With her thoughts turning steadily to icy clarity— _He really is sick, isn't he?_ —she observed my face, thinking, dimly and detachedly, that I looked sort of like a witch being burnt at the stake.

I could see my image reflected in her mind's eye, see the utter blackness of my irises and the twisted lines of agony around my mouth and eyes. She was so stunned by the shockwave that blew through her chest, rattling her heart inside her ribcage like a crystal chandelier in Valdivia, May 1960, that her thoughts slowed to a molasses-like pace, but blaringly clear, deafening in my ears.

 _So she's finally done it, then._

A profusion of images passed through her mind like a sort of slideshow, untinged by the filter of rage and panic she'd seen them through on the night of our wedding.

 _She's hurt him bad enough in her selfish drive to get her own pleasure—_

"Julie," my mother's voice said in the doorway. "How kind of you to pay your respects."

 _Pay my respects? Is this some kind of twisted goodbye ceremony before they inject their poison into him? Will they all take a bite, or will they let Edythe claim her sick territory?_

I felt the petrified muscles in my face twitch into a different mask, too consumed by the grief and desolation to comprehend its final composure. It was only through the eyes of Julie, my mother, and Archie and Jessamine, who were standing close behind, that I saw it as the mask of rage it was.

"However," Carine was saying, and laid a hand on Julie's arm, "Now might not be the best time."

Julie jerked Carine's hand from her arm like she'd been scalded—though I knew it was exactly the opposite—and took a heavy step into the room, baleful glare concentrated on the back of my head.

"I'll kill you." Each word was carefully measured and clearly pronounced—nothing like the same words she'd spit through a throat choked with rage, months before.

"Once he's gone, go ahead," I said, not turning from where my gaze was fixed on my husband's perfect countenance, relaxed in deep sleep. "When he dies, I'll have nothing left to live for."

Distantly, I heard Archie scoff in the doorway. He didn't see things quite the way I could.

In response to my easy acquiescence, Julie stopped in her tracks. Never before had she seen me so unwilling to fight, to stand against her. She realized just how easy it _would_ be to kill me, the semantics of the aftermath aside.

"But you do having something wrong," I added. "This time, it's not my fault. And yet, there's nothing I can do to save him."

Again, I heard Archie's highly dubious huff of breath from near the doorway.

"You told me yourself, Archie," I intoned without looking up, "You can't guarantee the outcome yourself. Not without Beau's awareness factored in."

"There _is_ a little discrepancy," he agreed, walking a few steps forward, to stand between Julie and I. He couldn't see what she would do with all this anger around the hole in his vision, and he wanted to be cautious… _This_ he wanted to be cautious about!

"Discrepancy?" Julie repeated, brows furrowing.

Archie waved absently at her. "The doctors are worried about the brain damage he's suffered because of the seizures and infection. Edythe doesn't think inciting the change will make a difference to that."

It was true, I didn't see how a brain so mightily disintegrated by the infections, seizures and cancer as it was, could ever be recovered. As many miracles as I'd seen venom cure, they had never involved a brain so battered and bruised.

"How do you know, though?" Julie was saying, surprising us all. She moved carefully around the side of the bed, gaze fixed contemplatively on Beau's face. "Wouldn't the only way to find out be…?"

"Exactly," Archie said, pointing at her.

Carine eased a hand over Archie's shoulder. "The final decision, as it always has been, is between Edythe and Beau. And as of right now, Edythe is not ready."

"Ready?" Julie said, swinging her gaze over to my face. "How much more ready can you be?"

How could I explain to her, to any of them, the kind of impassable fortress I faced within myself when presented with this choice of all choices? How had this ultimatum come to rest on my shoulders alone? How was I to decide whether Beau lived or died?

I knew this was no way to live, of course. I wondered if Beau had any inkling of awareness, as deeply as sedated as he was. Carine was inclined to think he had none, but I wasn't as confident.

I'd never been able to read his thoughts before—how was I to know what he would say now? At the last opportunity, he'd wanted to put the change off until after Renee's suffering had ended. There was a hollow pang of echoing grief in my chest when I was reminded of Renee's death just a day and a half past, but it was nothing compared to the endless path of grief and desolation that lay in front of me now.

How could I be responsible for taking that risk? If I attempted to incite the change, would it even take? And if it did, what sort of condition would Beau return to me in? With a brain ravaged in immortality, never to remember the depth of our love and connection, to wake to this new life with as much blindness as Archie had?

My brother had assured me it wouldn't happen, but how could he know? He hadn't had any physic evidence to back his hypothesis, and Carine had not been sure either. She, too, had not faced this kind of human devastation. The only one of us who had come close had been me, my body ravaged by infection as Beau's was, or Earnest, as broken as his had been—spine and pelvis shattered, nearly every bone in his body broken, and Carine had strongly suggested a severe brain bleed… But of course, those possibilities had passed without proof.

"So you're just going to let him lay here in misery?" Julie was demanding now. "Wow, and I thought you were evil before."

I knew I should have come to my own defense, but hadn't I wondered the same thing myself? _Was_ he miserable? _Was_ he in agony?

If I could _only_ read his thoughts, if I could only catch the slightest glimpse to see into his mind, to know what he might be thinking! But, of course, there was no way to accomplish such a thing.

With half-hearted longing, I wished for El's presence. Undoubtedly, she would come up with some ludicrous, entirely inappropriate joke, something to crack the tension in the room. But she and Royal had flown to Florida in honor of our family, to attend the funeral and do what they could to comfort Phil in his loss. I hadn't talked to them since they'd left the day before.

Dimly, I could hear my family discussing the merits of inciting the change, or continuing the wait, around me.

"—the hell are you going to do it, then?" Julie was grinding out through her teeth, "When they take him off life support? How are you going to get him out of here?"

It should have struck me like a bolt of lightning, the shock with which I contemplated Julie's vehement push toward the inducement of the venom. But upon deeper inspection, she was only impatient for Beau to be put out of his misery, which she was sure he was suffering.

 _Only one way to find out, right?_ She thought wryly, but with a firm undercurrent of agony.

It was true, of course. But the clash of desire and fear were at equal war inside me. What if we tried, and it didn't work? Oh… Oh, but what if it did?

Julie's dark eyes met mine across the sleeping boy between us, locked on mine with such an alarming sense of understanding that, for a moment, I thought she could read _my_ thoughts.

"If there was a time to be brave," she said quietly, "It's now."

Maybe she was right.

.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the shorter than usual updates, guys. But it's just how this one's flowing… (spurtedly, I'll admit.) Also, I'm fully braced against the impact of your opinions on me killing Renee. I'm sorry it had to happen this way, I truly am!


	18. Death

**A/N:** I realized I posted Chapter 17 without proofreading or editing any of my mistakes! Oops! But that's been corrected now… On we go…

.

Carine had arranged everything with flawless thoroughness and great care. With only the influence a surgeon could have, she'd arranged to have Beau transported to the house in Chicago, where he'd be taken off life support in peace and privacy. The tests at the hospital had revealed significantly reduced brain activity, and the doctors on staff had regarded it with the careful skepticism of professionals. Of course, they hadn't told _me_ as much—outright, at least, but still. I knew. It was unlikely he would wake, and the act of taking him home was, to them, likely indicative of palliative care.

I'd assented to this procession of events heavily swathed in the detached, matter-of-fact fallacy of theory. Realistically, the same thing being done in the hospital could be done at home, with the provisions Carine had made. Nothing had to change as a necessity… Except that it did. I knew it did.

The longer I put off the indictment of his attempted change, the slimmer the chance became that the outcome would be successful. The overwhelming logical part of my brain knew the chances, took into account Archie's predictions, Carine's half-promises, the overwhelming, unspoken push toward its ablution in every one of my family's thoughts—except for one, vehement exception—and the harsh, bleak reality that, sooner or later, it _had_ to be done. I could not keep Beau in this purgatory forever.

But the larger, far more emotional processes in my brain had me paralyzed, all my joints locked, frozen with fear, apprehension, and intense denial.

I could not help the strident repetition of the singular thought that seemed to eclipse every other thought in my mind: _It hadn't been supposed to happen this way._

As much as I'd thought about it, contemplated the how's and where's and when's, this particular situation had not occurred to me. First and foremost, I had predicted—as planned—a mutual agreement upon a date and time, presumably in a quiet room with only myself and Carine present. The administration of morphine to leaden the nerves that may otherwise be set alight by the fire of the change, and then, when Beau would give me his nod of consent, the act would take place.

Of course, this had been the most likely scene in my imagination, but other instances _had_ occurred to me. An unforeseen emergency, an accident that would necessitate a quicker and more rushed commencement, but no less thought out. Or a sickness that, while more drawn out, would happen in much the same way as the first.

But in none of my imaginings had I thought it would be like this: Beau, unconscious, unable to give the go ahead, though I knew, deep down, that I had his consent. And certainly not in the face of such overwhelming, mysterious odds. Never before had I considered that I would try and fail, had never seen it as the slimmest of possibilities.

The house just outside Chicago was already covered with snow when we arrived, massive drifts lining the long driveway, blanketing the wide meadow that surrounded the estate, weighing heavily and somewhat comfortingly upon the roof of the house. For all intents and purposes, this was the perfect place. My family home had been built just outside of the greater Chicago area, but far enough away that there was adequate seclusion, a wide buffer between the house and the human inhabitants a few miles off—purely coincidence, of course.

If I'd been in a frame of mind to consider it, I might have felt intense joy, comfort, relief—coupled with the sharp stab of homesickness that would never completely fade, no matter how long it had been—when stepping through the front door of the house I'd been raised in. It had, after all, been a very long time since I'd been here.

As it was, I could not stop to admire the smooth wood floors, the paneled walls, the original furniture kept in pristine condition. I could not pause to admire the art on the walls, the portraits like ghosts. I knew, upstairs, I would find my childhood bedroom in the same condition I had left it as a seventeen-year-old human girl—Carine had purchased it just after my 'death'. But it would be some time before I would venture to the second floor— _if_ everything turned out.

As poignant as this long-awaited homecoming was, there were more important matters to hand.

We set Beau up in the front parlor, in front of a merrily crackling fire—how could it roar so warmly, so gaily, the flames sparking with such veritable life at a time like this? How dare it fill the wide room with warmth and comfort and the rich, sharp smell of cedar? How dare the sky outside the windows be such an impossible shade of bright blue against the blinding stretch of sparkling snow when we stood under such an oppressive, black cloud of solemnity?

I hadn't realized just how long I'd stood, motionless, beside Beau's bed, staring into the cruelly dancing flames, trapped beneath the weight of such an inescapable decision, until Carine touched my arm, and slipped her hand around mine. She said nothing, only stood by my side, her thoughts deeply introspective and so utterly vulnerable that I felt I must give her own privacy in them.

She, too, was at war with logic and emotion. Faced with the test results, charts and diagnoses the doctors had run in the hospital, she didn't see, as a surgeon, how Beau's condition could be reversed by anything _but_ our supernatural intervention. But she also wasn't sure that it absolutely _would_ work. She'd spent a long time writing to every friend she could think of, to gather a census on their own experiences in the creation of their own families.

But nothing had compared to the modern conundrum we were faced with now.

 _It is a choice only she can make… If I could offer her any advice, any assurance, I would… But it must be her decision alone. In putting her utmost hope and faith in the only artillery left in our possession, she also commits to the very real possibility of ending his life, and thus, her own—for I know she won't go on without him._

For a moment, she was lost in the sea of grief when faced with the thought of losing not only a son, but her first daughter as well.

 _So I can only conclude,_ she went on, more decisively, more fervently, _that fate will intervene, that her will and determination to see him through will conquer. I must believe, beyond all manner of a doubt, that Beau's life will prevail, unfalteringly and flawlessly._

She turned to me, golden eyes glowing with the strength of her commitment and love. Then she pulled me to her, and pressed her lips, velvet-soft, against my forehead.

.

I knew he was unaware of his surroundings, knew that he must not be able to sense me or hear me, but still, I spoke to him.

"I need this to work, Beau," I murmured to him, stroking the back of his knuckles with my fingertips, "If you're in there, if you can hear me, I need you to fight—and I not only need you to fight, but I need you to remember, as painful as that might be…" I drew a shaky breath. "There are some things I haven't told you, Beau—important things that we should have discussed before…" I broke off, and shook my head. "But that will come. We'll talk after." I forced a tremulous, uneasy smile to curve the corners of my lips. "I have to believe that."

There was a long moment of quiet, in which I contemplated the strength of my anxiety. No longer present was the fear that my self-control would not be enough; in fact, the thought that I would be overcome by bloodlust in the midst of the change did not even enter my mind. It was the fear that all my efforts would be for naught, that I would exhaust every avenue of possibility, and that still, Beau would not live.

But I must put that notion aside, I reminded myself. I must believe with as much ferocity as I could summon that it would work.

At length, I raised my eyes to where Carine stood ready on the other side of the bed with the morphine, and I gave the nod of assent.

The rest of my family was close by, near enough for me to feel the presence of their supportive thoughts, comforting like the weight of a hand-knit shawl over my shoulders, but they remained respectfully distant, allowing me to do this on my own. Jessamine and Archie kept a careful distance in the woods on the east side of the house—Jessamine unsure of how she would react once blood—minimal as it would be—was shed. Royal and Eleanor, having returned from Florida, were in their room upstairs. I felt El's metaphorical hand on my shoulder, and the equally glacial shoulder Royal turned in return. Earnest was in the office at the back of the house, waiting for Carine to join him presently.

But there was another presence I hadn't been expecting. In the trees beyond the property, in the snow, a large red-brown wolf prowled restlessly, her thoughts vulnerable and unveiled, mournful and despairing—but still supportive. Not of me, but of Beau.

She would keep her promise, and she would stay until his heart stopped beating.

This, if nothing else, gave me the insoluble courage to push forward. _She_ , who had wished for his death in lieu of the change, now clung to the hope that this very thing would triumph.

Carine had disconnected the breathing tube, the feeding tube, the various wires and catheters that protruded from his skin, and we were left, suddenly and profoundly, with only the naked, weak sounds of his breathing and heartbeat. Beau's prone form lay on the table, pale face upturned, still.

I drew a tremulous breath, closed my eyes, and lifted Beau's palm to my face, curving his fingers to fit the shape of my cheek—feeling the flow of life underneath the membrane, the warmth of his flesh, soft and yielding, to smell the scent of his human skin, fresh and clean—mint and pine and Beau.

 _The morphine will have taken affect_. Carine's mental voice was gentle and unobtrusive. She had moved to the other end of the room, on her way to join Earnest in the back room. I had asked her not to go far, not as a safeguard against the monster that had lived inside me for several years—finally, valiantly slain by a knight in pure white armor, with eyes as blue as the turquoise waters bordering Earnest's Isle—but as moral support, a professional guide, as comfort as only mothers can be. Because, despite the fact that I needed to do this alone, I also needed her to be near.

I turned my nose to skim the underside of Beau's wrist, inhaling the sweet, heady fragrance of his blood, the essence that had filled him so full of life… I listened to the shallowly thrumming pulse beneath, too slow, faltering already without the aid of the machines, and let Carine's thoughts and memories wash through my mind like a wave, like the tide coming in, forcing back the frisson of panic at the sound of this decline. Everything I'd heard before in her thoughts, all I'd seen through her mind's eye, all she'd absorbed and faced when she'd changed me, and then Earnest, then Royal and Eleanor.

I inhaled once more.

 _Don't think; just do._

I parted my lips, and sunk my teeth into the lucent, forgiving skin over the pulse point in his wrist. My sharp teeth cut easily through the soft skin, the pliant muscles, and the unresisting tendons beneath the membrane.

Blood welled in the tiny wound left by my teeth—and a momentary, instinctual frisson of dread—long borne from the never ceasing endeavor to keep him safe and unharmed—whited my vision for a fraction of a second.

 _Don't think,_ I thought to myself again, and let my tongue wash over the surface of the wound, sealing the venom underneath the surface of his skin.

I did the same on the other wrist, and then rose, leaning over him, tilting his chin up to gain access to the column of his throat. Here, too, my teeth sliced easily through flesh, muscle and tendon. But the concentration of the pulse in his carotid was much more potent than the flutter in his wrist, and before I could move away, blood filled my mouth, the barest drop pouring down my throat.

The force of it was tremendous, and instantaneous. Flames roared down my throat and the venom inundated, filling the cavity of my mouth. But I had spent hours upon hours presiding over this part of myself, crushing the head of my monstrous impulses under the heel of devotion and love. Again, I let the venom fill the wound, and then swept my tongue over it, sealing it in.

I moved from throat to elbows, to groin, ankles and knees. Every point I could think of, to incite the change as quickly and as thoroughly as I could. If I inundated his system with enough venom, perhaps the change, if successful, would take place at a faster rate.

And, as a byproduct, I would face my adjudication sooner.

Still, as I carried on my proceedings, I could hear the continual slowing of his heart, seemingly unaffected by the venom. When it faltered and then ceased, I froze, momentarily knocked senseless by the panic.

 _Don't think about it,_ I told myself.

I turned his hand over, piercing the back, sweeping my tongue over it, the other, and then again in the neck. I was running out of places to inject, and still his heart had not begun to beat again.

I pulled back to stare at his face, vainly searching for any sign of life, any response. His lips were turning blue, deprived of oxygen.

"Come on, Beau," I whispered pleadingly.

A steady tsunami of panic was rising inside me, encouraged by the agonized lamenting from the wolf in the forest outside, in response to the silence of his heart.

 _Go, then,_ I thought.

"Please, Beau. You're not dead." The whisper was hollow, hopeless, but as I heard myself say the words, the panic was replaced by fury, a focused, all-consuming sort of anger. "You're not dead," I repeated in a hiss, and placed my hands over his sternum, pumping his heart a few times.

I leaned over and blew a breath into his lungs, and continued my compressions.

His face was so deathly pale and still, backlit by the navy blue of cyanosis—like the sky just before dawn.

Still warm, but too cool were his lips against mine.

The panic continued to grow as I continued to pump his heart, reminding myself to be careful not to crush him.

"Please, Beau. You can't do this. Don't leave me. Come back. Come _back_!"

There was no response to my words, nor to my ablutions over his chest. His heart echoed hollowly beneath my palms, lifeless, inanimate, like a puppet to which I was pulling the strings.

His face was so still, all the muscles slack—eyelashes dark against pearl cheeks, bluing lips slightly parted.

"You can do this, Beau," I breathed, struggling to pull in the air necessary to form the words, "You can. I know it. Please, _please_ come back to me!"

My eyes burned uselessly, and my breath hitched in my chest. I could not face the possibility, not after I'd exerted so much effort, put so much hope into my success. If only love was enough… If only, if only…

My brain, as advanced and flawless as it was, refused to make sense of the tragedy unfolding in front of me. If I just tried harder, if I could pump his heart long enough for the venom, sluggish and thick in his veins, to reach it…

I bent, and blew another breath into him.

"Please, please, please…"

But there was nothing. No feeble struggle of the still heart beneath my hands, no wheeze of breath, no stirrings whatsoever.

The floor had disappeared from beneath my feet, the warmth of the fire gone from my icy skin. I had lost all awareness of my surroundings. I could not sense my family near, could not hear their thoughts—deafened as I was by this mournful repose. The wolf was long gone.

All I could see was Beau, and the lifeless form of his body twitching beneath my demanding hands.

All thought lost to me, instead an incredible roar began to fill the space between my ears, growing louder and louder, like a freight train overtaking, black and dark and large—death. She was coming.

" _Please_ , Beau—hear my voice. Come back to me."

I could hardly hear the words that I knew were my own, lost in the roaring as they were.

"You have to do this, Beau. You have to… I love you; we all love you. But you have to fight, Beau. I know you can… I can't live without you, Beau. I can't, and I won't—so you need to come back, so that both of us can live—please, Beau, _please_!"

There came no answer, none at all. Why? _Why?_

Because I had failed. I'd failed him, I'd failed my family, I'd failed Julie, I'd failed Renee and Phil, and the baby, and Charlie. I'd failed them all…

 _Oh, Carine, forgive me._

I'd failed… I'd failed… I'd failed…

My hands paused over the stillness of his chest, just for a sixteenth of a second as I stumbled mentally over the inexorable depth of my anguish, and then picked up the compressions again. But in that fraction of a second of stillness, I'd felt it, certain and true, underneath my hands.

Silence.

Stillness.

Death.

I had stood over enough dead bodies to know.

.

My hands kept moving, keeping perfect rhythm, and I knew that I would never stop trying. As futile as it may be to continue the jerking of these lifeless puppet strings, I would continue to do it, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was gone, that I was alone.

"Beau," I breathed soundlessly, "Beau."

I gazed at his face for one moment, ashen and still, beautiful—and then everything went black.

The wind roared in my ears, louder than anything I'd ever experienced, nothing like I'd ever heard. The shrieks of the dead, the chaos of the underworld reaching out to us, clawing at us with grimy, skeletal hands. I could not see, could not feel anything but Beau's chest underneath my hands. I could not even see his face.

I felt suddenly claustrophobic, like I'd been buried alive in a shrinking box, all walls pressing in on me, tighter, tighter. I couldn't breathe; and I knew that I didn't need to, but I _couldn't breathe_!

And then everything went still, and my body was suddenly weightless. Now the immeasurable space of silence pressed in on me from all sides, as my hands continued their supplications over Beau's chest, beseeching his heart to beat again.

There was a soft, haunting sound of a woman's laughter, alone as we were in the dark, and then brief and poignant images flashed before my blind eyes, images of my own life come to past—though, in truth, I was not the one who was dying.

 _It is my mother's voice, the soft croon of her lullaby after a nightmare—the soft feel of her bosom under my sweaty cheek._

 _There is the reflection of a young girl with vivid green eyes, in a looking glass—and the feel of a soft brush running through my long hair, my mother's fine, elegant hands deftly banishing the tangles, and braiding the copper strands through with a dark green ribbon._

 _I can hear her singing again, but now her voice is cracked and weak as she washes my burning face with a cool cloth, abnegating her own malaise to instead attempt to nurse me back to health, all to no avail._

 _The dim, hazy images of my human life scatter like dust on the wind, giving way to new, sharper pictures._

 _A small, one room cottage, deep in the woods—and the heavy weight of guilt, shame, sharpened by the edge of resentment and oppression. Carine sits on a stool at the far end of the room while I cradle my head in my hands on the floor in the corner. If I stand and look into the mirror over the bureau, I will be met with the sight of my wild, savage eyes and unfamiliar face._

 _My creator does not yet know the depths of my abilities and makes no attempt to shield her introspections, her pity, her half-wondering doubts._ Have I made the wrong decision, to change her? _she thinks._

 _I am afraid to show her the absolute pervasiveness of my ability, afraid that she will resent me for making every pondering of her heart, every thought in her mind, bare and exposed as stripped bones._

 _The fire in my throat is as voracious as ever, the pain overtaking everything until it is the only thing I can think on. It is dusk now, and I fed last at dawn. I groan in abhorrence at the monster that I have become, the pain, the pain. Will it ever end? Will my temptations never be slaked?_

 _Across the room she sits waiting, patient—always so patient. In my current frame of mind, this patient is both infuriating and humbling. I do not have to lift my head to look into her face; I can hear the concern in her thoughts, the unmitigated affection. She loves me dearly, though I've only woken to this new life a matter of weeks ago. Still, I know that I've already grown to love her, as well._

 _This realization buffets some of the hate coursing through my desiccated veins, and I slowly straighten up, inhaling deeply. It was the wrong thing to do. The scent of human blood fills my nostrils—someone has passed too closely to our small, secluded house._

 _Carine's eyes, soft and buttery, meet my crimson ones, suddenly wild with ill-suppressed desire. The scent is intoxicating, stoking the fire in my chest, my throat. My mouth fills with venom._

 _Carine smells the human as well._

 _"Please," I beg in my new, unfamiliar silken, ringing voice. "Please, Carine. It hurts so much."_

 _My teeth clench together, the rage swelling high before she even speaks, already hearing the answer in her thoughts._

 _"We'll hunt," she says, her voice quiet and serene, and absolutely in control. "In the mountains. There are still a great deal of wildlife in the area. We'll go a fair distance, away from the human."_

 _The sudden, startling fury of newborn rage grips me in its clutches, unprecedented and baleful._

Denied again! _the sinister snake in my chest shrieks,_ No!

 _I stand, whirling to face the looking glass—facing the monster that embodies this unfamiliar form, lithe and petite and yet, hard as granite, unforgiving as stone, and stronger than a hundred men's' brawn combined. Her eyes are as red as the flames in the pits of hell—the most detestable form of monster there is. This is what I am now._

 _A wonton, mournful shriek escapes my throat, and I smash the mirror in front of me, hurling it against the wall across the stone cottage._

 _And Carine waits, patient…_

 _I hover in the darkness before the pre-dawn light, a few miles out from the house. I'm far enough that they won't be able to sense my presence, but close enough that I can hear their minds. For now, my eyes are black as coal with denial; I cannot face them otherwise, even as removed as this. It has been exactly a year since I left them._

 _Earnest flips through old photos, some recent, some older—from before he joined us. He wonders, as he always has, if it was his presence that upset the delicate balance of our relationship. With everything in me, I want to assure him that this is not true, that he and Carine are meant to be—that it was never him; always me._

 _I ache for the feel of his arms around me, comforting and soft, the feel of his cheek on the crown of my head. If he whispered to me in the darkness that everything would be okay… Would it be?_

 _Carine is not in the room with him, and it only takes me a fraction of a second to locate her in the back bedroom—my old room. There is a fine layer of dust over everything; it has been a long time._

 _Her thoughts are tinged with regret, despair and loneliness—always the loneliness. The same, bone-wrenching loneliness that I feel without her, a loneliness that cannot be answered by Earnest's affections, or her work. The bond between mother and child, stretched over a chasm too wide to pass, echoing in her marrow._

 _She draws a sharp breath, suddenly looking up—unable to ignore the inescapable thought that I am there with her, my presence like that of a ghost._

 _"Edythe?" she whispers into the empty room. "Edythe, are you near?"_

 _I turn and bolt in the opposite direction, but my legs move reluctantly beneath me, the wind whipping my skirts against my legs, and it's as if I'm a human moving through the reluctant back current of a river, being pushed inexorably in the opposite direction. But I cannot return. I cannot denigrate them with my company. By now, I am completely the monster, and so the question of my homecoming is one of denial. I can never return to them, I can never go home…_

 _Carine and Earnest's golden eyes glow up at me from a sea of humans, soft with pride and affection as I cross the stage to receive my first degree._

My beautiful daughter _, Carine thinks._

 _We stand together under a frothy arch of flowers. It is Royal and Eleanor's wedding day, and they have eyes only for each other. There is immense joy here, all shame and resentment of past hardships and strife gone in the overwhelming face of love and all that it conquers. Royal is magnificent, all dressed in white, ochre eyes shining for the woman, exquisite in her gown, in front of him. There is no regret, no sadness, no bitterness in his mind today. Today, Royal, inside and out, is the epitome of splendor, and we are a family._

 _The night outside is as black as pitch, and so is Jessamine's mood. She is curled into the corner of the sofa in the living room, Archie at her side. She is turned away from him, refusing the comfort of his touch, too ashamed to allow the love and acceptance we all feel for her, in. This night, she has killed another human. It has been two months since the last time, and she has allowed her hopes to precede reality. She thought the last time would be the last._

 _The rest of us prepare to leave, packing the house around the two of them, who sit trapped in their own inexorable cloud of grief and shame._

 _Archie despairs, feeling horrible for not warning her sooner, for not being able to save her from disaster._

 _Jessamine looks up at me, her face a mask of grief and mortification. I smile softly at her, understanding. I understand the paradoxical emotions that riot through her like a hurricane—overwhelming shame and regret, simultaneous euphoria at the memory of the taste of human blood, disgrace in response to the feeling of euphoria. She senses my understanding, my complete acceptance and the entire absence of judgment, and she allows herself to turn into Archie's chest, to allow him to hold her, anchored by the kind of forgiveness and love that I am sure, at the time, will never exist for me._

 _And we move around them, preparing to rebuild our life, again._

 _The sun is setting outside my bedroom window, tingeing the clouds purple and pink. Beau sits on the long leather couch in my bedroom, dark head bent over his math homework. He can feel me watching him, and glances up, a reflexive, shy smile on his face. For a moment, the expression flickers to one of awe, and then he grins so beautifully, my granite heart quivers in my chest._

 _"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice quiet but nevertheless heavy with emotion._

No, you are _, I think, unable to speak—locked within the depths of his cerulean eyes, happy to drown there._

 _"I love you," I breathe, and he smiles up at me. The expression on his face is all the answer I need, but still, he says it._

" _I love you, too."_

 _He turns back to his homework, tapping his pencil against the textbook page as he, assumedly, calculates the math problem in his head. I recognize the rhythm of the beat he's tapping out—my lullaby—and am suddenly inspired. I know what I'm going to get him for his birthday next week._

Brilliant _, Archie sanctions from two floors away._

 _I go to Beau, lifting the homework from his lap, and sliding in instead, nuzzling against his warmth, letting the bouquet of his scent fill my senses, to brand my throat. At this moment, I do not see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon._

 _The scene shifts, the sky still brilliant layers of lavender and blush, but the colors more muted by the pearl overlay of dawn. I have come home to allow Beau to ready himself for the school day, and already the separation is painful._

 _The rush of the river by which Archie and I sit together clatters, happy as it rushes over rock and stone._

 _"I'm glad you're back," Archie says, his voice quiet against the dawn._

 _I turn to look at my brother, his profile gilded in the sunrise, rainbow light shattering off his skin. I reach for his hand, smiling softly, and squeeze._

 _Beau's laughter echoes off the water, and he stares up at me with wonder, behind the snorkeling goggles._

 _"Did you see that one?" he cries, his voice high and breathless with wonder. "It had to be five feet across!"_

 _The tropical sun has gotten underneath my skin, seeming to warm me from the inside out. All is well in the world, and nothing can stop us._

 _Beau beckons me, and I dive beneath the crystal waves of tepid water, pulled to him like the tide to the call of the moon, like a meteor toward the sun…_

And then… A flicker of life underneath my hands, a muted echo of a response, and the darkness receded, just a little. My hands froze, tentative. I felt breathless with fiercest hope and apprehension.

And then, in a sudden blaze of blinding light, the darkness was swept away, to be replaced by brilliant dawn, by the conception of a solitary, brilliant pulse of life: a heartbeat.

.

 **A/N:** The second half of this chapter was strongly inspired by a fanfiction that I don't even know the author of, but have on my computer. I wish I could give proper credit, because their writing is exquisite.

P.S. For all of you wanting the reckoning between Beau and Edythe, it's coming. I wanted to draw some parallels between Life and Death, and the conversation that came after his change in that alternate universe.

As always, I'd love to read your lovely reviews! See you in the next one! xo.


	19. Birth

**A/N:** A nice long one for you guys this time—I was originally going to split this one into two chapters, but I've probably tortured you all enough with the cliffhangers for now ;) I think you'll start to draw some more comparisons with the original BD in these succeeding chapters…

.

Sensation returned, so swiftly that it was almost painful—the lights too bright, the fire in the grate too hot on my skin, the thoughts of my family too loud in my ears.

Under my hands, Beau's heart thudded once more, almost shyly, and then again, stronger. Before long, it had resumed its pace, though a tad faster than usual. I pictured the venom filling his veins, warming his insides—hotter, hotter, and then hotter still, surely too hot now…

Even so, he gave no sign of cognizance, or reaction to the pain, as his heart continued to build speed under my still, cold hands. His face remained slack, his lips slightly parted, his lashes resting lightly on smooth, pale cheekbones.

I waited, braced, for the screaming to start. But the screaming never came.

I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, in a sudden rush of joyous relief.

"Oh, Beau," I nearly sobbed, bowing over his inert form, pressing our bodies together. I could feel the racing of his heart against my breasts, pounding with life now—so passionately that I wondered how I could have ever feared anything else. He was breathing again, fully and evenly, his exhalations washing over the crown of my head. I tucked my face into his neck, murmuring his name over and over again, like a religious chant.

Soon, the chanting gave way to intelligible words lost in the dry, wracking heaves of my sobs. At once, I was overwhelmed with incredible emotion—horror and despair at how closely I had come to losing him, incredible relief and joy at the realization that he would be alright now…

 _He'll be alright now,_ I told myself, and forced myself to release my hold on him, to pull away. His shoulders slumped back onto the table, flat. Color had flushed into his face again while I'd clung to him, his lips pink and full, his cheeks lucent with blood flush. I reached up to smooth his hair away from his forehead, still wary of his lack of response.

As I combed my fingers through his hair, I realized that my hands—and, in fact, my entire body—were shaking. I drew a deep breath, attempting to force the tremors into sublimation.

I smoothed my unsteady hands down his neck, over his shoulders, across his chest—vibrating beneath the nearly violent pulses of his heart. "Thank you, thank you," I whispered. Whether I was thanking Beau or the gods above, I did not know.

It was too much, to stare into a face so unresponsive and slack, so I leaned forward again, to rest my forehead on his chest, the beats of his trotting heart flowing through my forehead, reverberating down my throat, over my shoulders and over the rest of my body.

I heard footsteps in the hall then, and looked up to see Carine and Archie come through the archway. Carine's face was smooth and expressionless, though the tremendous relief in her thoughts was apparent. Archie, too, held this same great liberation primordial in his mind, though his face was drawn, deep, finger-shaped dents beginning to smooth themselves from cheeks and forehead. I could see, in his memory, the way he'd knelt on the forest floor, Jessamine holding him tightly, terrified at the depth of his sorrow and horror, entirely clueless as to what had been happening. For long, agonizing moments, Archie had lost his awareness of Beau's life entirely and, thinking him dead, had gauged the furrows in his brow and cheeks out of unconstrained anguish.

Now, he grinned, brilliant as the sun, and crossed the room, pulling me off my feet and crushing me to him.

"You did it! You really did it!"

I didn't know what to say. When he pulled back, I kept my gaze fixed past his shoulder, to where Carine remained standing in the doorway.

"Carine?" My voice was unsure, trembling with anxiety.

His heart had taken hold of the venom, but would his brain recover?

Archie gripped my shoulders, shaking me.

"Edythe! Look!" he snapped—not unkindly. He forced his vision into my mind, a still image of two people, side by side, reflected in a long glass window. The image had flashed a number of times through his mind over the last week, but never had it been so clear, nor had it progressed so far. In the vision, Beau's body was perfect, tall and magnificent in light colored pants and a sky blue button-up shirt that clung just so to the perfected muscles of his arms and chest—the exact color, I thought, as Beau's human eyes.

The planes of his face were changed, sharper, more angular—but his loveliness was just the same as it had always been. His skin was radiant pearl, alabaster in comparison to the paper white of his countenance that lay before me just now. In the vision, the biggest difference of all made itself apparent as he turned his new, bright red eyes from his face to mine, a blinding smile splitting his full, perfect lips to reveal the glimmering, sharp teeth behind them. And in that expression, more liberating than the at once smooth and sharp lines of his body standing straight and tall, was the acknowledgement on his face. In the vision, he smiled down at me with the same love, adoration and devotion that he always had. I could not deny the familiarity with which he regarded me, potent and unmasked as it was.

"Oh," I choked, feeling as if I may collapse, "Oh, Archie. He… It's true. He'll be alright, then." I turned to embrace him again, holding him tightly, clinging to the vision with as much fervor with which I clung to my brother.

"Of course he will," he whispered against my hair, but his voice was choked by the same emotion, and we embraced each other silently for long moments then, letting the vision fill us anew, again and again.

Finally, I turned back to Beau, sliding my hand into his where it lay, still inert, at his side. A sudden stab of worry tore a hole in the serenity Archie's vision had brought me, and I swung my gaze toward my mother.

"Carine?" I said again.

"Edythe," she murmured, "Oh, Edythe." And a smile graced her lips. She, too, crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me. Her mind was focused on the apparent joy of the situation, but at the same time, she was carefully evaluating Beau's prone form, the power of his heartbeat.

 _Strong,_ she thought. _Fast._

But I still wasn't sure… "He's still unconscious," I said, struggling to pull away.

Carine, undeterred, reached up to smooth my hair. "He's been through much, Edythe. The tumor, the infections, the seizures, the bleeds and pressure on his brain… He could be in shock. It could also be the morphine," she estimated. "It's a small mercy, isn't it? If it's doing its job, it'll be delaying the pain of the burning. I can smell it on his veins, still very strong. It was, of course, administered well ahead of the venom. It may be awhile before he regains consciousness. Remember, Earnest did not regain consciousness right away, either."

The pain that suddenly creased her features echoed in my own as she recalled Earnest's baffled, tortured cries when he _had_ woken.

I closed my eyes, trying to banish the memory.

"I'm sorry," Carine whispered.

I nodded, and fixed my eyes on Beau's placid, uncreased face—for the time being, at least. His chest was rising and falling with the even, steady breaths he'd begun to breathe again, his heart still beating just a small measure faster than usual, andantino in comparison to his usual andante, but how could I bring myself to feel totally confident in her assessment? If the brain had in fact been too damaged, we wouldn't know until he woke if—

"Edythe," Archie interrupted, annoyed. The same vision from before wavered, blurring around the edges. Now Beau was no longer smiling, gazing warily into the reflection.

Carine was standing next to the bed now, running her hands over Beau's body, examining cursorily but thoroughly. She pulled back one eyelid, revealing a glassy, clear blue iris.

 _Fixed and dilated. Probably to be expected at this point,_ she mused.

Her fingers stroked gently over his face, at once tender with a mother's touch and professional with a surgeon's calculated palpitation. They moved up into his hair, easing over his scalp, feeling for the small burr holes the surgeon had drilled to relieve the pressure in his brain.

 _Starting to close. That's very good. The venom is working rapidly._

Now, I could hear the rest of my family drawing near to the front room. Earnest was closest, and I could hear the shaky ground on which his mind still remained. He'd been absolutely agonized by the precarious situation, but quickly began to recover when he came to stand in the doorway, able to see Beau for himself. While his agony and misery had been the darkest of solemn emotion, his relief, too, was grounded in seriousness.

In contrast, Eleanor peered in over his shoulder, grinning broadly, entirely unburdened.

"'Atta boy, Beau!" she whispered encouragingly.

Jessamine hovered a little ways down the hallway. I could see her perfectly, of course, but her yellow eyes glinted in the muted corridor's light like that of a cat's, wary and unsure, on guard.

"C'mon, Jess," Archie said to her, holding out a hand, "It's alright now. I can see clearly, and you'll be fine."

It wasn't that I'd forgotten Julie had left, just that I had been so entirely focused on Beau that her wellbeing hadn't entered my realm of consideration. Now, I wondered if we'd ever see her again. I was reminded of the vow she'd made, consciously to herself, and silently to Beau. She'd stayed, until his heart had ceased to function. And now she was gone, vanished into the ether of the approaching dusk like a mere phantom. Would she remain to haunt us, or had she gone, if not peacefully, then at least permanently, beyond?

Fortified by Archie's confidence, Jessamine stepped into the room, tasting the flavors of its occupants as she did so. The overwhelming consensus, of course, was jubilant respite. But she could feel the tremulous undercurrent of my anxiety, and Carine's grave wariness that she fought to hide from me. And, of course, she could feel the strident waves of fury drifting down the stairs from the room just off the landing. She went to stand by Archie's side, her eyes shifting to Beau's face.

 _So still,_ she thought, unable to stop the glimpses of more violent changes that flashed through her mind with virulent brutality, very much the war flashbacks they were. _So quiet._

I saw Eleanor glance furtively up the stairs, where Royal had remained stubbornly in their room. Try as he may to shun what was going on downstairs, he couldn't completely ignore it. He could hear the augmented pace of Beau's quickening heartbeat, and his thoughts were filled with bitterness and a strange sense of furious pity.

Would he come around, I wondered, when the change was complete?

It surprised me, the thought. Maybe I wasn't entirely as cynical about this as I had formerly assumed, being so automatically, unthinkingly, positive.

Only time would tell, of course.

Around me, my family was silent now, each coming forward to lay a hand on Beau and to embrace me. Someone brought a large armchair over so that I could sit next to him, and then, one by one, each of them left the room to do with their time what they would, while we waited for the change to complete itself.

I could hear the murmured argument that was taking place between El and Royal upstairs, and tried to ignore it. Archie and Jessamine had retired to their room as well, Jessamine picking up her book again, cuddling contentedly into Archie's side on the bed while he gazed, curiously and vigilantly, into the future.

Quiet quickly settled over the house. Fresh snowfall drifted against the shingles and windows, its icy patter unable to penetrate the warmth radiating inside.

I leaned forward and took Beau's hand in one of mine again, lifting the other to trace the curve of his cheekbone, to stroke the softness of his forehead.

"How are you doing, love?" I whispered, barely audible. Was any part of him aware? Was he in pain? I lifted his slack hand to my face. "Beau," I breathed, "Can you hear me? I love you, Beau, more than life."

I had often wondered why loved ones spoke to the departed, or at least the entirely cataleptic. Whether the aim was to comfort the invalid or their selves, it gave me undeniable comfort to speak, to act as if he could hear me. I had no answer, no affirmative, whether or not he _could_ , but I also wasn't positive that he could not hear me. And if there was a chance that he was caught suspended in the darkness, possibly in torment, I wanted him to be able to hear me.

I squeezed his hand. "I'm here with you, Beau," I assured him, "I'll never leave you. We're together forever now. All our troubles are over."

A tremor went through me as I said the words, as the traitorous doubt pierced my thoughts like a broadsword. What if he woke to this new life, had no recollection of me or of any of the events from the last two years of his life, wanted nothing to do with me? What would I do then?

I closed my eyes, desperately pushing away these doubts. As long as he would have me, here I would stay. I lifted his hand to my face, inhaling deeply his scent, altered, changed slightly by the sharp cloy of morphine, and the acidic odor of the venom lacing his veins, but still, faintly, Beau.

.

I had not spoken for many hours. Night had long since fallen over the house, and I had left the lights in the front room off. The only light came from the smoldering embers in the fireplace, casting a titian glow over Beau's countenance.

As much time as had passed, Beau still had not awakened. Still, he gave no sign of discomfort, nor of awareness. Not when I stroked his face, squeezed his hand, or whispered beseechingly into his ear.

It wasn't that I wanted him to be in pain; it was only that I feared so strongly that there was nothing left inside the shell of the man I loved more than life. A body, yes, and he may rise from the table in two or three days time and be a more or less functioning vampire. But what of the rest of him?

I strained valiantly to keep Archie's vision staid in my mind, fixed as a focal point. He would be fine, he would be fine, he would be fine…

"Would you stop that?" Archie muttered from the second floor, and I watched the vision shift again, tilting just a little on its axis as my doubts clouded its conclusion.

I felt the deep concentration furrow my brow as I pushed stubbornly against the qualms that orbited my mind like a moon sequences its planets, and picked up Beau's hand again.

"Beau?" I whispered, gazing into his face. Still. Unresponsive.

His skin felt marginally cooler to the touch, a surreal paradox in comparison to the venom which must be burning through his veins. I recalled my own memories of burning—the fire, hotter than the flames of Hell, flaying my insides, hotter than the fever of the infection had been, by then having infiltrated my very blood, sepsis. Still, the venom had burned more intensely.

 _Please, God,_ I prayed silently, _Don't let him be suffering…_

Carine came in then, as she had regularly every few hours, and stood across from me, next to the bed.

"How is he?" she murmured, one hand on his shoulder, soft eyes fixed on my face. _How are you?_

I shook my head, stroking his dark hair away from his forehead. "Still no response," I said quietly.

 _May I?_

I nodded absently, and she leaned forward to lift one eyelid.

 _No longer dilated,_ she thought, satisfied. _Good._

She prodded his scalp, noting the entirely healed burr holes, and the smooth plane of his skull.

 _The pressure in his brain is decreasing,_ she thought hopefully.

It was steadily dawning on her, the confidence that his brain would heal, that he would be restored. The progression of the change so far—other than his unresponsiveness—was just as she expected, how it had occurred in all the others. Doubt was steadily giving way to the more solid, disreputable power of logic and scientific evidence.

"He will heal, Edythe," she said softly to me, reassuring.

I nodded, watching his face—still, placid… Peaceful? "When will the morphine burn away, do you think?" The sharp scent of it still spiked his blood.

"This dose, in a human, would take about four to eight hours to leave the system. However, the venom changes the molecular structure of the blood, thickens it. I'm not sure how that will change things," she admitted. "It may last longer as a result."

Again, I nodded.

A long moment of silence passed, and then Carine crossed around the bed and laid her hands on my own shoulders. Wordlessly, she squeezed them, and then quietly left the room, leaving us on our own again.

.

Charlie called just as the sun was beginning to rise the next morning. Sooner rather than later, we would need to tell him that Beau had not made it, but for now, Earnest handled the call with as much grace as possible.

Even from this distance, I knew Charlie would not take the news well. First Renee, who he would always share a connection with, regardless of the fact that his feelings for her had finally left him, and now his son…

When the straggling phone call ended, conversation shifted to talk of the remaining plans the cottage my family had been building for Beau and I. Operations had begun to take place weeks ago. It had been a good distraction for them, amidst all the waiting they'd had to do while Beau was in the hospital. It was only a couple of miles from the house, buried deep in the seclusion of the trees behind it.

Earnest and Archie—and even Royal, at some points—talked excitedly about the near-complete construction project, and the next hurdle of furnishing its bare insides. Archie wanted to have it completed in time for Beau's change.

However, Jessamine was annoyed by her husband's eagerness to have the little house finished in time. Growing increasingly agitated with their spoken plans, she finally pulled Archie aside.

"This is absurd," she confided, her tone sharp with agitation, but also beseeching, begging him to see her perspective. "Beau won't be in any condition to live in that tiny space when he wakes. You know as well as I do that it's a fool's errand, a fairytale."

Archie smiled tenderly at her. "We don't know that, hon. It doesn't hurt to try."

Jessamine huffed impatiently, giving her husband a patronizing glare. "Edythe won't be able to handle him on her own," she argued.

Faced with her own memories of newborn vampires, I felt a stab of apprehension at her words. I could not deny the layers of truth behind her argument. Still, I had let Archie's fantastical premonitions of the tiny stone cottage fill my head with fairy dust, allowing myself to be pulled into the fable with almost as much vigor as he had. I could imagine living in the little space with Beau all too well, a place to call entirely our own, able to truly live as a married couple—Mr. and Mrs. Swan—for the first time… Alone.

The possibility seemed close enough to touch, sustained by Carine's growing satisfaction in response to her most recent examination. After all, she had handled _me_ on her own, and if no more destructive than the typical newborn, I had at least been faster…

None of this mattered though, of course, unless Beau woke up.

For the thousandth time, my eyes were drawn to his static face, illuminated in the morning light that was creeping through the front windows. I lifted his hand to my face, holding it alongside my cheek, and pressed my nose to his wrist, inhaling deeply. The smell of morphine was so very faint, hardly noticeable now. How much longer could we use it as an excuse for his lack of response?

Again, I was overwhelmed with the perverse thought that he would wake, writhe on the table, scream out in agony—anything, everything, to let me know that he was still in there…

I bit down on my lower lip, shaking my head in disgust at myself. To wish pain on him, only to ease my own suffering, was unthinkably deplorable. I should be thanking the stars above that the morphine had, insofar, offered him this peaceful reprieve from the pain—that was, of course, if he could not feel the burning on some deeper level of his unconsciousness.

I exhaled heavily, and squeezed his hand. "I'm here, Beau," I breathed. "I'm here with you."

.

"Do you sense anything?"

Jessamine was standing just a few feet away from the bed, gazing down at Beau's motionless form.

All of my family had come to visit multiple times—all aside from Royal. Some to offer comfort, some to look on in mere curiosity, some—like Carine and Archie—to offer what solid evidence they could in the eventuality of a positive outcome.

But this had been the first time Jess had stepped into the room since his heart had restarted, and now she took a careful step closer, her fair brows pulling together in concentration. Her mind registered the thin, stained hospital gown he still wore, limp and wrinkled from days of use.

She held out her hand, letting it hover over his arm, not quite touching. She stayed that way for several seconds, eyes closed, mind blank, and then turned away, looking down at me where I remained curled in the chair.

She shook her head gently, and a great chasm of trepidation opened up in my chest. "I can't sense anything from him," she murmured, "Nothing. It's as if… As if there's some sort of… Heavy blanket around him. I can't penetrate it." She shook her head again, this time in baffled amazement. "I can't describe it."

Not wanting to give light to the darkest shadows in my thoughts, I groped for another possibility. "The morphine, maybe?"

Her slender shoulders rose and then fell. "Possibly."

Then her eyes swung back to Beau's face. In direct correlation, so did mine.

 _He's changing,_ she mused. _He looks different._

I felt a flash of surprise, and then uneasy awareness at her introspections. Of course, Jessamine sensed this change in my emotional atmosphere immediately, and her eyes flickered toward my face again, seeing my black eyes and the wildness of my hair from the constant presence of my fingers within it.

"You knew he would," she said softly, and then was quiet for a long moment as she tried to imagine what it would feel like, if Archie were laying on the bed in Beau's place.

Then she left, leaning down to kiss my head as she did so, her steps brushing softly against the wooden floor as she retreated down the hall.

My eyes stayed fixed on Beau's face, the truth of my sister's observations sinking in the longer I looked. It had been less than twenty-four hours since his heart had begun to beat again and despite his enduring silence, the physical change in him was becoming undeniably apparent.

His skin had always been fair, but backlit by the rosy tinge of all humans—even more pronounced when he would blush with embarrassment. I could remember clearly the blood flush that would pulse beneath the thin membrane of his ivory skin, temptation—first of a murderous kind and then, later, changed—incited within me every time. But now, his ivory countenance had paled even further—delicate porcelain china hardening into fortified, diamond white.

I could recognize, as well, some of the changes Archie and I had seen in his vision. There was a strengthened sharpness to his cheekbones and jawline, the border of his thick, dark brows more pronounced, the shape of his lips slightly more acute, the slope of his nose just marginally straighter. All these things, subtle changes as they were, were continuing to grow even more apparent as the minutes passed by. All these things nature had decided led to a more evident, alluring magnetism, to tempt the human eye, the prey, coming to life.

It had been common knowledge to me that, if Beau were to become like us, his physical appearance would invariably be altered by the change. The aspect had never mattered to me; I had loved Beau for the person he was inside, the beauty of his heart and mind instead of the beauty of his face and body.

The loss of a few human traits, sacrificed for the exchange of immortality, increased strength and durability, had not been difficult to accept. The renunciation of a human blush in return for the hardened, impenetrable skin; the changed composition of bone and muscle for the durable strength and speed of our kind. It had never mattered much to me. It had never been the physical, but the spiritual aspect of his human traits that I had feared would be lost in the transformation.

But even now, although I would never confide these things to Beau, I felt a stab of loss for the small, human things that I had loved about him. For the warm, malleable smoothness of his skin against mine, the bright, unguarded blue of his eyes, as endless as the sky, deep as the sea, in which I had happily drowned so many, many times. For the smooth lines of his face that had carried me through the long, indeterminable months of our separation after the fateful accident during his eighteenth birthday party. For the steady pulse of his heart, a tempo I had timed by every movement to, the song that had carried me through day after day, night after night. And even the perfume of his blood, the burning bouquet of it that set my throat aflame, offered me irrefutable proof that he was alive.

But there was one thing the venom could never change, if it still existed: The person Beau had been inside as a human would always be the same, no matter how his physical appearance might be reformed.

.

It was a little while later that Archie came in, armed with towels, a bucket of warm water and soap, and a pile of clothes.

"So there I was," he said as he set the things on the table next to the bed, "Walking down the street toward the carpentry store, when I saw it through the window." And he held up the piece of fabric in two hands, letting it unfold and take shape. I stared fixedly at the soft blue silk shirt Archie held up—a firm, unwavering foothold to the vision he'd been seeing in his head.

"Like fate," he said, smirking.

It was an incontrovertible comfort to see a part of his vision come to life, palpable, visible.

In unison, we closed our eyes and let the vision fill us again, more clear now than it had been only a day ago. The scope of the image had widened to include Archie standing on Beau's other side, grinning, his expression one of pure satisfaction, and Jessamine, hovering at Archie's elbow, her eyes fixed warily on Beau's face. The top Beau was wearing seemed to almost shimmer, the focal point of the image, everything around it, even his face, slightly blurred—all aside from the brilliant crimson of his new eyes.

I opened my eyes and Archie nodded once, placated.

Together, we washed Beau's body and hair and then rid him of the homely hospital gown, replaced with shirt and trousers. And all the while, as we softly sponged his body, scrubbed his hair, gently shifted and rolled his body to dress him, there remained only stillness from the man on the bed.

When we were finished, Archie stared into his friend's face, an expression of saddened consternation on his face.

I felt my own anxiety grow in response to this expression.

"Can you see anything else?" I breathed, "Anything outside the one image?"

I played the vision back in my head, but it was only a still-frame, a photograph suspended in time. No one even blinked.

Archie shook his head slowly. "No," he said, "I've tried. That one moment seems set." He shrugged, and then suddenly smiled sheepishly. "But at least we have that."

.

A second midnight came and went, the hours passing in a ghostly silence as various members of my family went off to hunt, some to put the finishing touches on the cottage, others settling into their various, quiet tasks.

I ran my fingers gently down Beau's cheek, now shifting to a lustrous, fluid marble, so close to the feel of my own. My fingers drifted across his lips; these too were firmer, but his breaths still vaguely warm against my skin where they burst and then receded.

"I miss you," I whispered, "So much. I'm waiting, and I'll still be here when you come back." I paused, searching his face for any sign of life—chilled by the negation, despite the rapid pulses of his heart and breath that told me he was alive. "Please, Beau. Anything. Show me you're here. Show me you remember me."

I waited, breath held, for a sign, anything. But still, there was nothing.

It was many hours later when I heard Archie running back toward the house, through the trees that made up the forest behind us, so different from the firs, lichens, spruces and hemlocks that grew in the Olympic peninsula. Instead of moss and fern, his feet flew, barely touching, over the frozen fallen leaves of buckthorn, green ash and black cherry, American elms and box elder towering overhead.

 _Edythe!_ he was calling, _Edythe!_

Immediately caught off guard by his passionate tone—I couldn't tell whether it was due to distress or excitement—I locked in on his thoughts, and what he would be trying to show me.

A number of still shots flipped through his mind, his prospects of the day blooming unexpectedly betwixt his arduous ministrations over the cottage's finishing touches. They showed a series of shots of me sitting next to a still Beau, another of Carine standing beside us, a number of moments of Archie, Royal and Earnest finishing things up at the cottage, and one more… A vision of Beau, lying still and unmoving as always—and then he opened his eyes.

The vision blinked repeatedly through Archie's mind as he flew across the yard and into the house, tracking snow in with him that quickly melted on the warm wooden floor.

I stood reflexively, emotion slicing through me each time the vision replayed, the shock of Beau's lids parting to reveal the blood-red of his irises—a miracle all the more potent for their variance.

Archie breezed into the room without pausing.

"It's all becoming so much clearer now," he said to me. "The time is coming."

I turned to him, hopeful. "Do you see anything beyond that yet?"

But he shook his head, deflating the balloon of hope as quickly as it had amplified. "No, just the one vision with the reflection. I can't see any of us beyond that." His black brows furrowed now as he looked down at the floor. He shook his head and looked up at Beau, and then walked into the room, resting a gentle fist on his shoulder. "Once he wakes up, it'll be all up to Beau."

Then he looked up at me, his buttery eyes dancing, and I knew he'd realized something else, as well.

"What, Archie?" I demanded.

But he didn't answer, crossing over to the wide windows at the front of the house, looking contemplatively up at the sky.

"Cloudy today," he said, almost as if to himself, "But no snow until tomorrow morning, at first light." Then he pivoted on his heel, his expression alight with joy, recalling the absolute lack of precipitation in any of the visions he'd seen. "It's tonight, Edythe. It has to be." He stopped and concentrated once more, letting the flipbook of images turn their pages in his mind. "Judging from the darkness outside, it'll be sometime in late evening," he said finally.

I was so breathless with anticipation that, for a moment, I couldn't speak.

"Do you think so?" I finally breathed. "That would mean the change took place in only two days."

He nodded, grinning.

"Wait!" I cried, suddenly remembering. I turned, searching the walls wildly for the object I was in search of, and found it. "The clock, Archie!" I said, pointing. "Can you see the clock?"

He looked up at it—the time read 6:03 in the morning—and then closed his eyes, concentrating. I watched with him as the vision came again into focus. He could see the outline of the black frame on the wall, but the hands were blurred, indefinable. He focused for a moment longer, and then released his breath in a huff, his shoulders relaxing.

He opened his eyes, shrugging. "Either way, it's today. I can feel it." He crossed the room to me and gave my arm a quick squeeze. "I'll go tell the others."

.

"We should make some plans," Jessamine said quietly from the doorway.

I stayed where I was, perched on the edge of the fat armchair, holding Beau's hand.

Eleanor, slightly less cautious than our other sister had been, strode bouncingly into the room, rubbing her palms together.

"It's gonna be a fun day!" she crowed happily. "Can't wait!"

"So you've heard then," I surmised, "About Beau."

"Hell yeah!" El said, just as Jessamine said, "We need to be ready."

Their dueling perspectives on the situation would almost have been comical if Jessamine hadn't been so entirely dire about the situation.

 _So he breaks a few things,_ El was thinking, _Big damn whoop._

I started to smile at my sister's always casual attitude, but then froze as Jessamine's thoughts entered the scope of my mind. I whipped my head around to look at her where she still stood in the doorway, taking in the sudden, severe expression on her face. She had her eyes fixed, almost horror-filled, on Beau's face beyond me, her hands half-raised, her lips a round, fixed o.

"Something's… changed," she whispered tonelessly.

I searched her mind, and found the change she'd sensed in Beau. I turned back to him, leaning over his form and cupped his face frantically in my hands. His face was as slack as ever in unconsciousness, but Jessamine's thoughts were garbled as she attempted to make sense of the emotional atmosphere, Beau's feelings slightly drowned by my static panic, but nevertheless discernible.

"What do you feel, Jess?" I demanded as she came into the room, slowly, and stopped by the bed.

She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "The… blanket has been lifted," she murmured. "I can feel him now, but…" She trailed off, concentrating on her attempt to tease out the knot of emotion she could feel emanating from him. I watched and waited, swinging my gaze back and forth between them—one so outwardly equable, the other so intensely focused—for the several moments it took Jessamine to reach her conclusions.

It was easy for her to identify the more basic emotions—sadness, happiness, anger, grief, fear, pain. But sometimes, emotions were more abstract than that, and though she was very good at determining the numerous, varying shades of the emotional spectrum, sometimes even she struggled to make sense of what one might be feeling.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, struggling to articulate what she was sensing, and didn't speak for several more seconds.

Finally, she looked up, finding my gaze already on her.

"Restraint," she whispered. "It's the only way I can describe it, but that's not quite…" She trailed off again, staring into Beau's still face once more. "I feel like there should be more… underlying emotions—pain, or fear—but I can't… Can't access that. It's reigned in too tightly."

I felt myself frown as we looked down at Beau together. Her words didn't make much sense to me; maybe she was misconstruing, probing for resolutions where there were none.

I bent close to Beau's face, pressing my cheek against his—so much cooler and firmer now—and inhaled deeply, my lips parting in preparation to speak, and then froze. The scent of the morphine had entirely faded.

I was suddenly struck with the oddest sense of shyness, and pulled back slightly to examine his face once more.

"Beau?" His name left my lips in a barely audible whisper.

I waited a long moment, but despite the fact that I was sure the morphine had been completely burned away by the venom, there was still no reaction from him. I sat slowly, my legs feeling oddly numb, and laid my hand on Beau's arm.

So the morphine was entirely absent from his system… And still, he did not move… Why?

Why was he still unconscious, why was he still not responding to my touch, my words? True fear now rose up inside me, filling my throat and choking me.

Jessamine felt my panic and moved quickly to my side. Immediately, the blanket of serenity draped itself over my shoulders as her hand settled on my back, but the thoughts continued to race through my mind—now just without the palpable, spiking chaos of terror. The confusion, the doubt, the dread, and the frustration at the reality that there was no possible recourse; the only thing to do was wait. Never before had I wanted the ability to see into his mind more.

My breath automatically caught in my throat at the realization that soon, I might be able to… Maybe even right now.

I forced Jessamine's hand from my shoulder, so that I would not be affected by any outside influences, and leaned in close again, closing my eyes and pushing, as I had so many times, against the steel framework of his mind.

There was nothing. For now, he remained as inaccessible as ever to me, but I didn't let that deter me too much. Soon, he may not be, once he was like me.

But that answer, too, remained to be seen.

.

I remained unmoving at Beau's side as my family gathered in the office down the hall.

Carine and Jessamine shared their experience in dealing with new vampires, talking about keeping Beau calm, his mood steady. No sudden movements or harsh words. And if he had to be restrained physically, Jessamine reminded my family not to let Beau get his arms around them. Jessamine would stay close to Beau's side at all times, hoping to adequately monitor and control his mood in order to reduce the need for physical control as much as possible.

Carine spoke of the importance of keeping him adequately fed, and keeping each respective hunting party—whichever combination of our family it turned out to be each time—adequately distant from human civilization, and the rest of us on guard to any kind of threat that might make Beau a danger to himself, or to us.

When the conversation concluded, my mother came to stand in the doorway of the front room. For a long moment she remained still, taking in my strained expression and the point of contact where my hand was locked with Beau's.

 _Is everything alright? May I check on him?_

I nodded in response to both questions, and she moved into the room, stopping at the bedside to stand over Beau. She listened for a moment, and then rested her fingers to the inside of his wrist to check his pulse.

 _One hundred and twelve; that's faster than yesterday,_ she thought, and then bent slightly, inhaling. _The morphine's been entirely burnt off,_ she noted, and gazed at his unchanged face.

"Still no change?" she murmured aloud.

"None," I whispered.

Her brows drew together. _What is the reasoning behind his unconsciousness?_ She wondered. She leaned forward to place her mouth close by his ear. "Beau, can you hear me?"

Carine straightened slightly, eyes searching his face for any sign of reply, physical or vocal. This concerned her, of course, and I felt the tide of unprecedented fear rise again within me.

"Something's wrong," I hissed.

Carine heard me, but didn't reply, lost in her ponderings. _Could he be awake and somehow trapped inside? Too scared to respond? Confused? That seems unlikely—if he possessed any level of consciousness, he would not be able to remain so immovable against the pain… Or could it be something more sinister—was there a part of brain that could not be repaired by the venom? Try talking to him, Edythe._

I wrapped my hand around his fingers—no longer hot to the touch, or even warm. Now, they felt entirely undistinguishable from my own. I leaned forward. "Beau? Beau, love? Can you open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand?"

I'd asked these questions so many times in the last thirty-six hours, and still, the outcome was the same as it had always been: Nothing. And no matter how many times he'd failed to answer me, still I hoped, only to have that hope dashed every time.

I dropped my face into my other hand, my hair falling around my shoulders and face as I fought back the darkness that pressed inexorably toward me, and voiced the thought that I'd been too terrified to voice before.

"Maybe… Carine, maybe I was too late."

His brain, initially damaged by the tumor and pressure, had been further destroyed by the seizures and the extended interim of oxygen deprivation as the doctors and nurses had worked over him, struggling to revive his alertness, further depreciating the longer I'd sat by his comatose side, agonizing over the choice I'd had to make…

There was a resounding negation in Carine's mind at my words of bereavement, and she shook her head instantly. "Listen to his heart, Edythe. It is stronger than even Eleanor's was. I've never heard anything so _vital._ He'll be perfect." _The wounds in his skull, and, I suspect the swelling underneath, have completely healed. The venom is doing its job._

I peeked up from the cover of my hand, and gazed at his body, luminous and perfect in his blue silk shirt, sand-colored pants, and bare feet, his dark hair, just slightly too long, curling subtly over his forehead. The evidence was irrefutable. His skin was strong, smooth and perfect, as Carine had said. But was it just an illusion? A mask of perfection that disguised something irredeemably broken within? Were we blind to the possibly injuries in his brain the venom had not been able to retrieve?

"But he's so still," I moaned. "I _must_ have done something wrong." It wasn't supposed to be this way, I reiterated to myself. Even Earnest, who had been so still, like Beau in the beginning, had eventually begun to trash and scream once his physical injuries had been healed.

Carine leant down and drew me to her, my face pressed against her shoulder. "Or something _right_ , dear," she whispered fiercely into my hair. "You did everything I could have and more, Edythe. I'm so proud of you… I'm not sure I would have had the persistence, the faith it took to save him, myself." Now she pulled back and held me firmly by the shoulders, her eyes burning into mine. "Stop berating yourself." The words were a doctor's order, brooking no argument. "Beau is going to be fine." _He's in there, somewhere, Edythe. You have not lost him. He'll emerge whole, as soon as he's ready… I know it must be confusing, but for some reason, he is unable, or unwilling, to respond._

Unwilling? But that didn't make any sense. Why would he be unwilling, or unable? Horror suddenly washed through me at the nightmarish thought of Beau trapped inside his body, gagged and bound by the indefinable force that kept him so silent, so still. Wracked with incomprehensible pain, unable to reach out for comfort…

"He must be in agony," I lamented.

Carine shook her head again. "We don't know that," she protested, "He had so much morphine in his system. We don't know the effect that will have on his experience."

But the morphine was gone now, I thought, shaking my head in denial. I put my hand on his other arm.

"Beau, I love you," I whispered. I prayed above all else that, if he was in there, anywhere in there, that he would hear me and know that one, wholly important thing. That I loved him. "Beau, I'm sorry." That was the second thing I needed him to know, but not nearly as important as the first.

.

It was awhile later that Archie came back from putting the finishing touches on the cottage, hanging art and miraculously convincing Royal to tune the piano. I had been waiting in no small amount of agony, each tick of the second hand of the clock seeming to stretch on for minutes at a time.

My brother had the good sense to come straight in to see me.

"How much longer?" I asked without preamble.

His ruminations over the cottage were quickly replaced by the premonition of Beau, his figure almost entirely indistinguishable from one of ours now, bright and sharp.

"It won't be long now," he told me. "See how clear he's getting? Almost too easy to see now." He smirked at me and the image bloomed again between us: Beau in the reflection, Archie and me standing on either side, and there was that beatific, adoring smile again… The premonition was clear as crystal, not so much as a waver of indecision in it now. In fact, it was sharper now than I had ever seen it before. What had changed to make it so sharp, so firmly outlined by the solidness that framed the vision? Whatever it was, it jolted through me with a suddenness that was shocking, like daylight flooding the windows of my heart, wrenching them free of their moorings and flinging them wide, clearing the smoke, sending it billowing out.

"He's really going to be fine," I breathed, barely able to believe it.

Archie chuckled. "Of course he is." _When will you learn not to doubt me, Edy? Really?_

"You weren't so sanguine two days ago."

"I couldn't _see_ right two days ago," he argued, waving his hand flippantly. But it wasn't so easy for me to forget the hollows he'd gauged in his own face, when he'd feared his best friend had been dead and gone. When, if only for a moment, his future had entirely and completely flickered out, gone black, his heart falling silent.

It had been one thing for him to fight the growing tsunami of his dimming, darkening vision, thinking it was only the effect of the illness and the growth in his brain, believing wholeheartedly that I would incite the change at the perfect time, and that all would be well…

"We came pretty close," he admitted on a heavy breath. "But, all's well that ends well." He shrugged, smiling.

"Could you concentrate for me? On the clock—give me an estimate," I begged him. As swept off of my feet as I'd been by the realization that everything, truly, was going to turn out as planned, I found myself growing more and more impatient for the completion of the change to come.

"So impatient," he teased.

I glared.

"Fine," he relented, "Give me a sec."

He let his eyes fall shut and the vision from before filled our minds again, this time from a different perspective as he struggled to view the clock on the wall from a better vantage point. With the image so much clearer, freed from its fuzzy-edged fetters by whichever force had decided to give us its mercy, the hands on the clock were almost too easy to make out now.

It was mid-afternoon now. Glancing reflexively at the clock, I noted the time. That meant I only had five hours and forty more minutes to wait. And then… Well, then we'd have forever.

"Thank you, Archie."

Archie was distracted by the image of Beau in the reflection again. "He's gonna be incredible."

"He always has been," I growled.

Archie snorted and rolled his eyes, contemplating coming over to ruffle my hair, and then thinking better of it. "You know what I mean."

Grinning, he jaunted out of the room, to inform the rest of the family what the timeframe was. I heard the tide of mingled anticipation and excitement sweep through the house. As the time grew nearer, each member of my family eventually abandoned whichever project, hobby or pastime they'd been occupied with, lapsing into nervous stillness as the time for Beau to wake approached.

Carine and Earnest stood together by the front window, watching the sun sink steadily behind the horizon, indigo of night taking its place.

Eleanor and Jessamine played a halfhearted game of cards on the stairs, neither of them really paying attention.

Royal had moved out to the garage, glowering over his BMW and trying not to think about what was happening inside the house. I lingered there, on his thoughts, for a moment, sensing the absolute lack of anticipation in his mind, so alien in comparison to the rest of my family and myself. The underlying context of his strange, furious pity became clear to me then. It was old news that Royal had never wanted this life for himself, and now, he felt that, just as he'd been about to convince Beau of the preciousness of mortality and all the horrible connotations that came with the transformation, just as he'd started to like him, form a bond with him, everything had come crashing down around him. He felt that this had been forced upon Beau in much the same way as it had been forced upon him, too battered and bruised by the cruelties of life, unable to consent…

I turned my focus away from his negativity, and back toward the now. Beau's heart was picking up its pace, each beat coming faster than the last. The sound of the beats were so familiar, and I felt an unavoidable ache inside at the realization that this was it… For all the heartbeats I'd counted as he'd slept, for all the times I'd marveled at its vitality, all the times I'd felt amusement at its various quickening's and lurches… I was hearing what would be the final thuds of his pulse. This was the end.

And yet… The beginning, all at the same time.

"Carine," I called softly, unnecessarily. She and Archie were already on their way, having heard this sudden change in rhythm. Andante to andantino, to allegretto, building to mosso and now, at presto. "Listen," I murmured when they came in the room, both of their eyes going right to Beau.

Accelerando now, affrettando…

Carine hummed, amazed. "It's almost over." _He never woke, never experienced any pain—what a divine miracle!_

Archie's eyes were at once bright and distant, images flickering behind them as quickly as the tempo at which Beau's heart flew. He was running out of the room, gathering the rest of the family; he was gathering them in the corner of the room; Beau's eyes were flying open.

"Yes!" Archie hissed eagerly, "I'll get the others!"

He turned and left the room.

I looked down at Beau, his face unchanged, even as his heart pounded on at a fierce gallop, building rapidly toward the tympanic, high note of a tenuto pace. If my own heart could beat, it would be pounding right along with his. I gripped his hand in mine, silken and smooth and exactly the right temperature. I leaned forward, eyes fixed on his face, enamored by this final crescendo, this build toward the end.

Behind me, I could elusively hear the footsteps of my family joining us in the room, but paid their thoughts, and Jessamine's whispered instructions, no mind. This was taking all my focus now.

 _I'm right here,_ I thought fiercely, _I'm right here with you. It's almost over, Beau. You're almost there. Almost there._

Without warning, his body bowed, back arching violently, as if a puppet master were pulling a central cord.

"Beau!" I cried in alarm.

All his limbs remained slack at his side, only his chest thrust forward, tight with agony, and then I saw his face—every muscle pinched against the pain, mouth twisted as if to hold back his screams of torture.

 _Tough kid,_ El thought, _Not even screaming._

I squeezed his fingers tighter, my gaze riveted on his face, waiting, wishing for it to end. Seeing the agony on his face now ripped a wrenching sob from my throat in response to his pain.

 _It's alright, Edythe,_ I heard Carine think. _It's what we expected. It'll be over very soon._

 _Don't scream again, Edythe,_ Jessamine reprimanded me, _And let go of his hand. Give him some space._

I did not heed her words. Beau's heartbeat overtook me then, thunderous and unmatched, all I could hear or feel—the raging beats a single, sustained note. There was a pause, and then an echoing, hollow thud in the chambers of his heart.

Everything constricted, focused on this one, singular sound. Nobody breathed, nobody moved. His heart stuttered once, twice more, and then was silent. All was still. I waited, half-panicked, for the next beat, and then realized it wouldn't come, not ever again. His heart, the thing that had sustained his life for so long, kept him alive and breathing against all other odds, the thing that had proclaimed his humanity, his fragility, the one that singled him out in a gathering, the only thing that made him discernable to me other than his scent, was gone now. Without it, and without the ability to hear his mind, he was utterly, completely silent to me.

Not one of us moved, all of us frozen, none of us knowing what was coming next—except for Archie.

He was grinning, nearly vibrating with eagerness. _Five.. Four… Three… Two… One!_

And Beau opened his eyes to this brand new life.

A cataclysmic explosion occurred in Archie's mind, dozens upon dozens of visions unfolding, flowing forth like an unstoppable tsunami, each image flashing like a bolt of lightening, clarified and then gone in the next half second.

 _Beau, smiling into my face, his arms wrapped around my waist._

 _My family, standing framed against the door, smiling at us._

 _Beau, flying through the frozen, deadened foliage of winter, leaping, bounding, scaling cliff-side and tree._

 _He and I standing at the cottage door, key in hand._

 _A thousand images after that, wavering in his mind like the quiver of a butterfly's wing._

I could only see Beau's face on the bed, his savage eyes wide, moving almost imperceptibly as he took in the room above him. Other than his scanning, he was perfectly motionless.

I could clearly discern the wonder and awe in his gaze as he drank in his surroundings, and then he drew in a deep breath, almost a gasp, his chest rising, his lungs filling with the tastes and scents of the room around him. Watching him draw his first breath reminded me that I'd been holding my own, and I consciously let it out, quietly, as I waited for him to react to my presence.

He didn't. An interminable number of seconds passed, each one more torturous than the last, as I waited for him to move.

 _Could_ he move? Had the venom been unable to reverse what the tumor had done to his legs? His eyes flickered and touched on the various new sights above him, clearly comprehending, but did he _remember_? Did he recognize the old, recall his past?

Finally, I could stand it no longer, and very softly closed my fingers around his—giving his hand a tentative, encouraging squeeze.

Archie saw his reaction a millionth of a second before it took place, but my eyes were fixed on the Beau in front of me, here and now. With an incredible grace and agility—which immediately and irrefutably put to death all the anxieties I'd had about his legs—he flipped up off the bed, tearing his hand from mine with extraordinary strength, and, in the process, wrenching me out of my seat and halfway across the bed.

 _Wait!_ Jessamine warned, a second too late, as Beau's bare feet made easy purchase with the floor five feet away.

Automatically, he sank into a guarded crouch against the wall next to the fireplace, a fierce warning growl erupting from between his bared teeth.

 _Christ!_ Jessamine thought, taking a step toward him—ready to channel her gift by means of physical touch, and to restrain him if that weren't enough.

 _Relax! He'll be fine!_ Archie rolled his eyes at the arm Jess had thrown across his chest, and side-stepped it.

My eyes were fixed only on Beau, frozen in his defensive crouch, his eyes glowing with defensiveness, his sharp, savage teeth still showing.

 _Waitta go,_ El thought sarcastically, a small grin playing on her lips. Although she retained her place as second guard at Jess's side, her posture, in comparison, was entirely relaxed. _Scared the crap outta him._

 _Oh, Edythe,_ Earnest chided, watching Beau's face with limpid, compassionate eyes.

Royal, standing at Eleanor's side, had his eyes on Beau as well, waiting for him to fall to pieces.

Carine, on his other side, stared at Beau with unveiled fascination.

 _Incredible!_ she thought.

Jess hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, eyes affixed to Beau's profile as her mind raced in an attempt to grapple with what Beau might be feeling. Anger, confusion or fear, she mused, would almost certainly mean an attack on myself, since it had been my unexpected touch that had triggered Beau's reaction. Or possibly—and she slid an inch closer to Archie—he would attack the family, their obvious larger grouping being the greater threat.

Jess took immediate inventory of the exits, assuming that Beau's next likely course of action would be to escape. She, El and the rest were clustered by the only archway, blocking that avenue.

 _Get between him and the window, Edythe,_ she instructed, still rifling frantically through Beau's emotional atmosphere.

But I couldn't move, locked as I was in Beau's fiery, watchful gaze. I searched these new, unfamiliar eyes for any sign of cognizance or intimacy, but his expression was blank and emotionless—as if he'd never seen me before.

My stomach plummeted, as if an iron anvil had suddenly been deposited into it.

 _He doesn't remember me,_ I thought with wretched mournfulness. It was just as I had feared.

His eyes released me then, easing sideways to regard my family, gathered together on the opposite side of the room. His nostrils flared subtly, scenting the air for danger? Still, his face remained expressionless. Did he recognize _any_ of us? His gaze lingered on Archie's for a moment—grinning broadly, entirely at ease—and then swiveled to rest upon mine again.

He stared at me for a long moment, face still maddeningly impassive, while I vainly shoved against the titanium wall of his mind. Apparently immortality hadn't changed anything, I realized with a small stab of disappointment.

 _Be prepared, Edythe,_ Jessamine instructed, still on guard as she struggled to fit the pieces of Beau's jigsawed emotions together.

I wanted to say something, to do what I could to reassure him, no matter if he believed me to be a stranger now or not, but my vocal chords were paralyzed with fear, stretched achingly taut with grief.

And then, surprising me once more, Beau straightened abruptly, abandoning his aggressive posture, and his expression changed—though I still could not entirely comprehend what I saw there.

Jess was still wary, though caught off guard by the sudden deflation of tension in Beau's feelings. _Again,_ she thought, _That odd sense of… restraint? But how can that possibly be? He's_ _ **so**_ _young…_

I tuned her out, still watching Beau's face. There occurred the barest of changes in his expression, a very, very slight softening and, dare I say, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. I could not say with any modicum of certainty that it was familiarity I saw there, but whatever it was, it gave me the courage to move.

 _Careful, Edythe!_ Jess warned, sensing the spark of my decision.

Very slowly, I straightened from where I'd been leaning on the bed, and skirted it, circling slowly, each step carefully measured, to where Beau waited, unmoving, but his expression soft and almost… dazed?—with his still, immovably, trained on my face.

As I approached, I gave him ample time to anticipate every slow step, to react to my approach. I kept my one hand up between us, an invitation, an assurance of civility. He watched me with garnet eyes, making no move to retreat. This was a good sign.

I checked in with Jessamine, to sense how he was feeling. Still, the quivering tenor of restraint was center stage, but there were a number of other emotions thrumming beneath the surface that she hadn't quite figured out yet.

 _Awe?_ she wondered. _Shock, confusion… Love?_

My dead heart gave a phantom lurch at the possibility.

"Beau?" I breathed softly, cautiously.

He seemed startled at the sound of my voice, his eyes widening, and his features once again wiped clean of all emotion. And then, almost as suddenly, intensity burned brightly in his eyes.

 _Amazement,_ Jessamine thought, _Ardor._

Encouraged by her readings, I took another step forward. "Beau?" I said again, "It's disorienting, I know. You get used to it." I not only remembered this influx of sights, sounds and smells—all like new—from my own transformation, but from the multiple times I'd experienced it since, in the minds of my family.

I heard the surge of comprehension fly through Jessamine's mind, and then Beau's lips parted.

"Edythe."

In a very small part of my mind, I appreciated the clear baritone toll of his new voice, the perfect bass timbre of an arpeggio, the smooth, seductive opus of succulent silk. The shock of my name spoken in his lovely new voice left me reeling, never having heard something so beautiful. But more than this, I was left wordless with astonishment at the clear intimacy with which he said my name. He _hadn't_ forgotten! He remembered me!

The relief, now more potent than before, washed over me anew. Beau was standing here in front of me, tall, magnificent and whole, his new features outlined in granite, the sleek, seductive lines of his body strong and smooth—but more important than any of that was the tenderness that flooded his countenance now, warm reverence and unalterable love, as he gazed down at me.

"Oh, Beau," I whispered, choked by overwhelming relief, love and joy.

Realizing how close to him I was standing now, I was possessed by the very sudden need to touch him. The instant my fingers twitched toward his face, I heard Jessamine's firm renunciation in the back of my mind, and saw the shake of her head in my periphery.

 _Don't_.

But I _had_ to touch him; she didn't understand. I had assure him of my support, had to reestablish the connection in some way. Moving excruciatingly slow, I let my fingers lift to his cheek, drifting across the luminescent smoothness. His eyes widened, crimson irises burning, and his lips parted to accommodate his sudden intake of breath.

I hesitated, unable to distinguish his full reaction. The widening of his eyes seemed familiar, but without the wide mirror of blue that was gone now, I could not see whether it was fear or desire reflected there. His skin, luculent pearl, gave off no sign of the long-gone human blush that would betray his ardor, and though the breath coming more quickly now through his slightly parted lips was familiar as well, that also could be fear or desire. I felt myself frown slightly, troubled by this lack of comprehension. It was all so new again, just like the beginning. I _thought_ I knew, but how could I be sure?

I waited for him to speak with no small amount of impatience.

 _It's just a hug!_ Archie suddenly blurted.

Before I could define the meaning behind his words, Beau's arms were suddenly locked around me.

Jessamine, of course, panicked immediately and started to lurch toward us—but I shot her a sharp look of warning at the same time Archie clamped his hand down on her arm.

Just an embrace.

 _Hm,_ Carine thought, _This is unanticipated._

Beau held me so tightly against his chest that I couldn't even move my arms to return the affectionate gesture, his face buried in my hair. The larger part of me was ecstatic to be in his arms again; the other was amazed that this gesture was even possible for him. Why wasn't he entirely and completely being ruled by his thirst?

Beau's grip tightened, distracting me from this train of thought, and I found myself taken aback by the raw strength radiating from his limbs, vise like around me, tighter, and then tighter still. Abruptly, I felt my ribs begin to arch the wrong way underneath his pressing fingers, bones bending inward.

In a second or two, something was bound to crack, and I panicked slightly. Not wanting to be crushed by his hold, I squirmed slightly against his chest.

He noticed my resistance immediately, of course, with his heightened new senses, and pulled back slightly, loosening his hold. He looked down at me, his expression confused and hurt, and I knew he was interpreting my gesture as rejection.

Behind me, Jessamine and Eleanor exchanged a glance, and readied themselves.

Archie rolled his eyes. _He's fine. I don't see him attacking anyone. Just reassure him, Edy._

I felt a flash of annoyance at myself, but kept it firmly under locks, not wanting the emotion to show on my face and for Beau to misinterpret things again. I tried to smile reassuringly up at him.

"It's alright; it's just… Carefully, Beau. Ow."

He released me immediately and took a step back, pulling his arms behind his back. Understanding, quickly replaced with embarrassment and apology, flitted over his face.

"Sorry," he whispered.

I couldn't help it—the grin nearly split my face. So _that_ hadn't changed, either! Still apologizing for absolutely unnecessary occurrences! Never before had he ever had reason to be _less_ apologetic than he had reason to be now! _God_ , how I loved this man!

"Don't apologize," I murmured, reaching up to stroke the sudden, unexpectedly familiar furrow between his smooth, dark brows. "It's just that you're a bit stronger than I am for the moment."

His lips turned down at the corners, and I stroked the side of his face, waiting patiently as he worked through this alien concept—that he could actually hurt me now, that he had that kind of power. And then his expression altered again, moving away from the unease of deep concentration, suddenly glowing with deep devotion and longing.

In a movement I knew was very much purposeful, he pulled is arm out from behind his back and lifted his hand to my face, shaping his fingers—smooth as silk, soft as down feathers, hard as steel—to the curve of my cheek. I sighed at the ease of the gesture, so much the same, and yet, so different, inclining my face into the smooth caress and closing my eyes.

 _Careful, Edythe,_ Jessamine was thinking, _Don't let him put his arms around you again… His mood is incredibly calm, but that could change at any moment…_

I shut her out, and the myriad of other, similar thoughts running through my family members' minds. I understood that they were merely concerned for the both of us, but they didn't know Beau as I did, couldn't see the glow of devotion in his eyes as I could, or feel the gentle passion of his touch against my cheek.

And then he spoke for the second time, in his new, beautiful voice, and these words were even more beautiful than the first: "I love you."

Everything melted away in response to those words: all the waiting and the agonizing and worrying of the last too many weeks, the crushing black cloud of despair that had hovered over me during his comatose state, the dread that had clung to me since the day, so long ago now, that I had first seen Archie's vision of Beau's red eyes. It had all lifted in this moment.

I gazed up into his face, past the alien crimson of his irises, and into his soul that I knew, with absolute certainty, was still there. And I spoke the simple, absolute truth that everything in my life had, and ever would, revolve around: "As I love you."

It occurred to me, as I reached up to gently cradle his face in my hands, that there was no longer any reason to treat him so gently, but I had treated him this way for so long, that it was almost pure instinct that pulled his mouth to mine with such supreme delicacy. However, the instant his lips touched mine, all careful precedence vanished. We were the _same_ now, equally matched in temperature and durability—if not strength for the moment—and we didn't need to be careful anymore.

The liberation of this reminder vaulted me to impossibly blissful heights and finally, for truly the first time, I abandoned all caution, threw it to the wind. With an eagerness and passion I'd kept firmly corseted since the day we'd shared our first kiss, I opened myself fully to him, parting my lips to gain access to his saccharine scent, his sweet taste. Now, I didn't need to be careful about keeping my teeth hidden, for they were no longer any danger.

Ignoring everything else but this, the eternity I held between my palms, I deepened the kiss, pressing myself tighter against his solid, unyielding chest, and then firmer still, noticing that the warm softness of human flesh no longer caved under my curves, his lips didn't shape themselves around mine anymore, but held their shape, returning the appeal of my kiss with equal strength. He felt so different in this new, strong body—and yet, impossibly, the very same as he always had. All of his frailty and weakness was gone, but his fundamental silhouette was still there.

I could feel his arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest, and his response was immediate. He kissed me with urgent, unthinking abandon, and I did the same. The sense of unfamiliar, carefree recklessness swept over me. I'd been holding back much, much more strongly than I had even realized myself. To know I couldn't, wouldn't, hurt him left me free to enjoy this experience with every single portion of my mind, nothing on guard, no part of me removed from the pleasure.

He swept his tongue against mine—sweet, honey ambrosia—and I inhaled greedily as he clutched me tighter still, drinking in the luscious scent of him, bathing my throat with syrupy sweetness, and none of the burn. Still refreshingly sweet mint and pine, but purely delightful now.

My head swam with temptation, all of it for his body, his love; no deeper hunting instincts lurked within me.

One of his hands pressed on my lower back, drawing me closer—the other pulled at my hair almost roughly, as he tipped my face up to devour me with as much enthusiasm as I devoured him. I hitched my calf around his, wishing we could be alone… And then suddenly realizing that we weren't.

 _Get a room,_ El thought, covering her somewhat uncomfortable laugh with a cough.

Beau pulled back immediately at the sound of her throat clearing, humiliation painted clearly across his face, despite the lack of blood in his cheeks.

But _I_ wasn't embarrassed, and kept my arms locked tightly around his neck as he attempted to step away. I had witnessed enough of _their_ intimate moments to last me two lifetimes. They owed me this; deserved a taste of their own medicine. _Especially_ El and Royal.

Another part of me was amazed and incredibly roused by the fact that I was able to touch him, let alone _kiss_ him, so soon. I didn't know why he was so content to linger over these physical affections while the thirst must be clawing at his desiccated throat, nor did anyone else in the room—especially Jessamine.

 _How can he focus on anything other than the thirst?_

Carine, who could stand it no longer, stepped around Jess and walked toward us, her expression mostly filled with marvelous joy, but also a little cautious. Jessamine immediately fell into step behind her, like a shadow, still nervous.

"How do you feel, Beau?" Carine asked, stopping a few feet away from us, bursting with curiosity and amazement at the difference of his change in comparison to the rest of ours.

He paused, and I thought I saw a shadow flicker across his face, but it was gone too quickly for me to have been sure. "I don't know," he finally said slowly. "It's all so…" He trailed off, looking abstracted.

"Yes," agreed Carine, remembering the cascade of sensation and thought when her own transition had been completed. "It can be quite confusing."

Beau nodded quickly. "But I feel like—me. Kinda. I didn't think that would happen."

His words, such a delightful relief, seemed to fill my chest with helium. No part of him had been lost to the brain tumor or the sickness. It had been all I'd wanted, for him to come back to himself, to feel comfortable, for this transition to be as painless as possible… Of course, a brief storm cloud passed across my heart when I remembered all there was he still didn't know… But that time would come.

For now, there was only happiness, almost every mind in the room bright and cheerful in the face of triumph.

"You are remarkably controlled," Carine observed, unable to hide her surprise. _Simply incredible._ "More so than I expected, even with the time you had to prepare yourself mentally for this."

I was taken aback to see the flicker of unhappiness that passed through his eyes, and his lips turned down slightly at the corners. "I don't know about that…"

Carine nodded sagely, not wanting to downplay any of the distress he might be feeling, knowing how quickly things could turn. But she couldn't suppress her enthrallment for long. A second later, I saw her eyes glitter again with a doctor's passionate interest, and I smirked slightly as she latched again to the idealized success of the morphine. "It seems we did something right with the morphine this time," she enthused. "Tell me, what do you remember of the transformation process?"

Beau was quiet for a long moment, so long, in fact, that I felt the tension coil within me like a spring as I waited to hear what he had gone through during these past days of unconsciousness. I forced my breaths to remain even, doing my best to exude a calm I suddenly did not feel, despite the waves of tranquility Jessamine was putting out to the room.

"Everything was…" he finally began haltingly, "Pretty dark… Before. I remember being in the hospital… Sick, with the tumor and the pneumonia and the encephalitis, and—" His expression suddenly changed as a charge of palpable fear jolted through him. Beau's eyes snapped down to mine, crazed with sudden anxiety, stark horror there.

Jessamine flinched internally, and then focused her efforts on calming him more strongly.

I wished I could tell him that everything was okay, that Renee was fine and had made it through her own ordeal… But I couldn't.

Jessamine felt my hesitation. _Don't tell him just yet,_ she warned me, _Let him feed first—he'll be more well equipped to cope with the news then._

Beau was still gazing down at me, the frenzy of panic growing in the half second it took me to respond. I smiled softly up at him.

"You have a baby sister. Congratulations," I said quietly, hoping he would leave it at that, for now. But I also felt the horrible guilt grip my insides at keeping this news from him… He _did_ have a right to know.

 _After,_ Jessamine assuaged me, _When he's more under control._

But in spite of her words, Beau seemed perfectly in possession of himself to me. The anxiety quickly cooled from his eyes, extinguished by my soft words of felicitations.

Carine, also faced with the gravity of the news, nevertheless remained eager to broach the reality of his transformation.

 _Has he been in pain? Was he aware of his surroundings before the transformation took place? Or after?_

"What do you remember after that, Beau?" Carine asked gently, unobtrusively.

Beau's countenance went very still. "It's… Hard to remember, actually," he said, his tone impassive. "It was dark, before, and then…" His brows knit, just slightly. "And then I opened my eyes, and I could see—well— _everything_."

"Amazing," Carine breathed. _So the morphine was incredibly effective, then…_

But behind her, I could see Jessamine's lips pressed into a tight line, and then her eyes met mine, and she tried to clear her thoughts. But I had read them clearly. She didn't think his words matched his emotions. While his words had been calm, almost detached, she had clearly sensed a flicker of pain and suffering in his emotions.

 _It's nothing,_ she assured me, but I wasn't so sure.

"I want you to think—to tell me everything you remember," Carine said now, getting ahead of herself in spite of the many times she'd done this.

Beau's expression changed at her words—some sort of discomfort flashing across his face.

Carine immediately castigated herself. _This is not the time for this discussion. Of course not,_ she reprimanded herself. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Beau," she apologized. _How thoughtless of me._ "Of course your thirst must be very uncomfortable. This conversation can wait."

I watched as Beau's eyes seemed to suddenly burn brighter, glowing in a different, savage way, and he swallowed convulsively.

I heard the clear, undeniable thought ring like an alarm bell in Jessamine's mind: _Thirst_.

She leaned forward, her eyes fixed intently on his face, bracing herself. _You'd better get him out to hunt, Edythe,_ she thought.

A thrill of anticipation went through El. _Oh boy! I can't wait to see this!_

I unwrapped my arms from around Beau's neck, but kept one hand, pulling him gently toward the back door. "We should hunt now, Beau," I said, "It will make your throat hurt less."

.

 **A/N:** So, there we go! The change is complete, and Beau and Edythe are together again! But don't worry—there's still lot's more to go through after this.

If you have a second, please leave a review. How are you doing, my lovely supporters? I've missed talking with you all, and try to reply to every review that I can! I'm fairly certain I'll be getting back into a regular upload schedule now, as I have a few chapters pre-written ahead of where we are now (I know, what?!)

Talk to you all soon!


	20. Hunting

**A/N:** Guys! My laptop cord chose the perfect time to quit the other week, and so I had to order a new one, but we're all good now, and I'm so glad to be back with regular uploads! I don't know—there was just something about that middle part that really threw a wrench in things for me? Anyway, I'd say we're about, mmm, halfway done now? I've already had people worrying that we're nearing the end now, and we're not, yet. Of course, it's not going to be as long as the original BD, simply because there's not going to be _as much_ __drama as in the original. Don't get me wrong—there'll be some drama, just not the whole, 'Eek, the Volturi's coming to kill us!' kind of drama that Bella and Edward experienced.

Annnyway. I'll stop rambling now and just get into it ;) As always, hope you enjoy!

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I hadn't fed in weeks; my eyes had long-since gone coal black with negation, and in a way that I hadn't felt in a long while—owing simply to the fact that thirst had held no candle to the pyre of flagellation I'd felt while Beau had been suffering—the burn of thirst blistered my throat, and my stomach panged hollowly with the echo of long flouted hunger.

Excitement flared within me at the thought of sharing this experience with Beau, of not having to hide this part of my nature from him anymore. It had been the final thing that had separated us out of necessity during his human life—but never would it part us again!

I tugged eagerly on his hand, and was vaguely surprised when he did not automatically drift after me. It occurred to me that he could stand against me now, his strength even more powerful than my own while the rawness of fresh blood still reinforced his muscular and skeletal structures.

"Hunt?" he said now, uneasily, hesitating. There was sudden apprehension in his expression. "I, uh, well, I've never been hunting before. Not even like normal hunting with rifles, so I don't really think I could… I mean, I have no idea how…"

Eleanor chuckled. _Is this kid for real?_ _ **Damn,**_ _he's hilarious!_

Despite myself, I smiled at this charming avenue of misplaced self-consciousness in my husband. For most newborns, the urge to hunt was so instinctual that it usually occurred without thought, no reservations. That was how I recalled my first time being, and for the others… But Beau was so calm and controlled—for whatever reason. For him, the idea of hunting must seem like a very surreal concept. He didn't realize yet, when the scent was close enough, instinct would take over—no matter what kind of control he was displaying now. Of that, I was sure.

"I'll show you," I told him tenderly. "It's very easy, very natural."

But his features remained stiff with trepidation.

I arched my eyebrow with a teasing grin, letting my dimples show, trying to ease his fears. "Didn't you always want to see me hunt?"

Beau's facial expression shifted quickly, altered by the warmth of the sudden laugh that spilled forth from his lips—musical, chorusing like a church bell. I gave him a moment to adjust—and myself, for that matter, stunned by the beauty of his joy—and then tugged on his hand again.

"Come with me, Beau."

We had just slipped into the hallway when Archie called out behind us.

"Hold up!"

I didn't stop, sighing exasperatedly at my brother's eager interruptions. Whatever he wanted could wait until _after_ we got back from hunting…

Jessamine didn't like it either. _You better get going, Edy, before he escalates._

But suddenly Beau pulled me to a halt—as unfamiliar as _that_ sensation was—and when I glanced back at him, he was staring into the reflective surface the ceiling to floor windows framing the door at the end of the hallway provided. Outside, it was dark, and the lights from inside the house made the windows as smooth as a mirror.

I stared, unblinking, as Archie's vision was born—Jessamine hovering at his elbow on the other side, tense.

 _How the hell is he so easily distracted from the thirst?_ she wondered irritably.

I had my eyes fixed on Beau, as he processed his new appearance in the mirror of the window. His eyes started at his naked feet, and slowly rose over the long lines of his shanks, the muscles cut sharp and smooth in calf, quad and swelling, pleasantly round and firm, in glutes, over the bright blue fabric of his shirt, snug against his chest and broad shoulders, and up to his face.

Here he froze, and a small, strangled sound escaped from his throat. Jessamine felt the anxiety flood through him and tensed.

 _Watch yourself!_ she warned. _He's getting upset!_

"What is it, Beau?" I asked, concerned. I couldn't read the thoughts behind his wide, fiery eyes; now that I could not hope to garner any information from the former human responses of his body, I was left adrift and entirely clueless.

"The eyes?" he whispered, lips stiff with tension.

I exhaled in understanding, and made a face, remembering the first time I'd seen my own reflection. "It goes away—the animal blood will dilute them first to amber, and then gold," I assured him gently. _And he'd be just as beautiful as ever._ But I could empathize with the sudden shock of the change in appearance. "I terrified myself every time I looked in a mirror for six months," I confided.

"Six months?" His voice sharpened with horror, echoing off the paneled walls of the corridor.

Jessamine took a step toward us in alarm. _He's too agitated; too upset! He won't be able to rein this in—get ready, I'm going to touch him, send out a blast of calm. Hold onto him—he might not respond to my touch the same way he did to yours._

Archie sighed loudly, and restrained Jessamine's lifting hand in his, bringing it to his lips to soften the blow.

 _Nah, he's fine,_ he thought, visions racing through his mind of the next few moments—our flight across the lawn, our voyage into the forest.

Beau took a deep breath, eyes flashing between our worried faces, and then tempered, and the tension in Jessamine's mind abruptly retracted, snapping back like a rubber band. Jessamine jumped slightly at the sudden control, her brow furrowing.

"It's a lot," I soothed Beau, stroking his hand.

He nodded. "I'm okay," he said, his low, clear voice intensely calm and collected.

 _How does he do that?_ Jess puzzled. _How the hell did he regain control so quickly? He should have snapped—I've seen it a thousand times! Why?_ _ **How**_ _?_

"I don't know," I breathed, turning to gaze up at Beau in reverent beguilement. I had known almost every one of my family members as newborns, and none of them had been able to balance themselves this way, instead dissolving into fits of rage or despair at the slightest conundrum. We had all been a senseless, perilous, bloodthirsty mess.

But not Beau.

He turned to look at me, feeling my gaze on his sharp, beautiful profile and one of his eyebrows jerked upward almost unconsciously. "What did I miss?" he asked.

I laughed and turned toward him, wrapping my arms around his solid, strong waist, tilting my head back so I could still see his face. "Jessamine wonders how you're doing it," I confessed. His brows knit together in question. "She doesn't understand how you're standing here, discussing things calmly with us, smiling, kissing me. You're supposed to be thirsty and nothing else."

"I'm a lot of _else_ ," he murmured quietly, so that only I could hear, and the brush of his lips against my earlobe sent shivers down my spine, making my nipples tighten reactively, underneath my blouse.

"I've never seen a newborn do that, Beau," Jessamine said now, interrupting this small moment of intimacy, "—stop an emotion in its tracks that way. You were upset, but when you saw our concern, you reined it in, regained power over yourself. I was prepared to help, but you didn't need it."

His lips turned down. "Oh," he said. "Sorry… Is that wrong?"

"No," she said, but her voice wavered with insecurity. _I don't think so. I'm not sure if the calm is just masking the build up toward some incredible breakdown…_

I felt a spark of annoyance, cooling the languid yearning in my veins. I wished she would just take this at face value! Under the circumstances, he was doing incredibly well—even if it might only last a short while longer! But really, when had Beau been anything but exceedingly resilient and brilliantly unanticipated?

"It's very impressive, Beau," Carine said from behind us. The rest of my family had followed us into the hallway, wondering what was taking so long for us to go out the door. "But we don't understand it. We don't know how long it can last."

 _You really should get going, Edythe,_ Earnest worried. _He must be in an astonishing amount of pain._

 _At any rate, this composure won't last,_ Jessamine thought. _Go._ Part of her internal discourse was sullen, but I didn't take the time to unearth the reason behind it.

"Alright, alright," I sighed exasperatedly.

Beau glanced away from my face, to my family waiting uneasily behind us. "What?" he wanted to know.

"You're making Jess nervous," I said. "She might feel a little better once you've hunted."

Beau glanced at Jess. "Sorry," he told her.

I laughed, incredulously. "Honestly, Beau," I said, shaking my head. "You're apologizing _again_?"

He turned to look at me, a beatific smile gracing his face. "Old habits die hard, I guess," he said, and leaned down to, again, press his lips to mine.

Enjoying his attentions thoroughly, I was caught up in the distraction of his new, perfect body being so close to mine once more.

 _Enough with the damn games!_ Jessamine snapped, truly agitated now.

"Okay," I said, reluctantly pulling away. "We're going."

.

The frozen swath of icy ground stretching out behind the house glowed ethereally beneath the velvet blanket of the starless night sky. Despite the fact that it was very, very cold, however, our breaths were not visible in the air around us, nor did we feel the need to add layers to the simple clothing we already wore.

"Whoa," Beau breathed, staring around the yard in amazement. "That is _so_ cool."

I laughed at the obvious thrill of exuberance in his eyes, and took his hand. We flew together over the stiff, dead grass, toward the trees.

My family, who were discreetly watching from inside, were still nervous. Earnest was concerned about my being alone with Beau, strong as he was for now. And it was very difficult for Eleanor to stay where she was, for the same reasons. Jessamine had argued that it would be better if she came with us, so she could use her gift if there arose a need, but I had declined their help.

 _Be careful, Edythe,_ Carine called.

 _Good luck,_ Jessamine thought, still a little bitter, but mostly only anxious for our wellbeing. _You'll need it._

I ignored that, and pulled Beau into the trees. We ran side by side in the night, hand in hand, while I gave him time to look around us and take in the newness of the landscape. It felt incredible to run again, to feel the wind on my face, in my hair, to feel the ground undulate beneath my feet. Advancing and retreating glaciers from many years prior had shaped the topography and soils of this new, unfamiliar region. Having been massive, these ice sheets had flattened most of the land, but also had carved out the rivers and lakes which dotted the region like craters and small fissures, as well as the series of low-relief undulations that swelled throughout the area. We leaped and bound over these small bodies of frozen water, climbed and descended small hills and mountains.

Our feet brushed soundlessly over limestone bedrock, clay and silt. We wound between the shuddering, almost naked trees together until, somewhere along the way, it became more of a race than a companionable jog. I ran slightly slower than usual, ignoring the craving within me to push them to their utmost limit, to ensure Beau would be able to keep up with me. I listened closely to the unfamiliar whisper of his racing steps behind me, in case he was suddenly gripped by a notion to veer off course, but he stayed right on my tail.

I couldn't hold back the unbridled chimes of laughter that burst from my throat as we ran. Doing so was one of my favorite past times, and to be able to share it with him now was unspeakable freedom, and joy.

I felt the footsteps of his flight begin to build in intensity, falling heavier with increased vigor, and knew he was trying to catch me, or even overcome me. Wanting to see his face, I slowed subtly, to give him passage.

He blew past, whipping my hair into my face, and looked back, over his shoulder. His smile was exultant, wide and breathtaking. The moonlight glinted off his teeth, lit his entire being from within—and I was momentarily stunned by his unveiled, delightful expression. Then he turned his face away, and kept on running.

I kept up with him, keeping a careful distance—not wanting to trigger any defensive mechanisms within him—and took the time to really focus on the easy grace with which he moved, from behind. It was clear that his awkward clumsiness—always so endearing—had burned away with every other indication of his human fragility. I paralleled a thousand different comparisons in my mind for the way in which he moved—as sinuous as a lion, lissome as a stag, smooth as a serpent in water, as undulating as a panther stalking his prey, as dexterous as a lynx… But no comparison did his motions justice.

I was so hypnotized, in fact, by the bunch and release of his rhomboid and trapezius muscles, by the bend and extension of his long legs, by the absolute familiarity he seemed to compose this new body with—as if it had been waiting for him—that I almost didn't realize how much distance we'd covered. But then I did, and waited for him to slow, or to become distracted by the myriad of scents and sights around us—as most newborns were wont to do—but he only pushed on, his pace fevered, unstoppable.

I slowed even more, scenting a herd of white-tail deer just a few miles to the east. He didn't seem to notice their scent, and I slowed to a walk, watching for a fraction of a second to see if he would notice, and turn back toward me.

He disappeared into the trees, and I called out to him, keeping the tone of my voice relaxed, casual, so as not to frighten him. He didn't seem to hear me, pushing forward for another second, and I felt a sudden grip of panic. What would I do if he got away from me? I was sure I could catch up with him, but what if he encountered temptation too strong to resist in the meantime?

Just as I was about to go after him, I heard him stop and turn, and then he came back through the trees, jogging lithely to my side.

"Did you want to stay in the country?" I teased, "Or were you planning to continue on to Canada this afternoon?"

"Oh, sorry," he said, almost automatically, and I rolled my eyes.

"Beau."

He laughed, pushing dark, slightly overgrown bangs off his forehead, then gazed around us. "This is fine," he said. "What are we hunting?"

The trepidation was back in his face, and I reached for his hand, to steady his nerves.

"White-tail deer. I thought something easy—for your first time."

He seemed about to argue with this—whether it was the choice of prey or the skill level, I didn't know—his eyes narrowing and his lips parting, but then he broke off, and I saw his eyes blaze with sudden intensity—red fire—his body going rigid. He swallowed roughly, the smooth orb of his Adam's apple bobbing in his long, graceful throat. The thirst was beginning to get the better of him.

"Where?" The word slid from in between his teeth, almost a snarl, as his head whipped back and forth, nostrils flaring as he rose up on his bare toes.

The little clearing was only twenty yards away. If he concentrated properly, he would be able to sense the animals waiting there. I reached up to lay my hands lightly on his upper arms and turned him in that direction.

"Hold still for a minute," I coached quietly, "And close your eyes."

He lowered his eyelids obediently, long lashes sweeping the crests of his cheekbones.

"Listen. What do you hear?"

He contemplated for a long moment, while I lifted my hands to cup the diamond hard edge of his jaw, luminescent in the moonlight. His breathing sped slightly, and then his features tightened again—thirst making itself apparent on his face.

Heat scorched down my own throat, venom flooding underneath my tongue. It had been a very long time since I had last fed.

"To the northeast?" he finally said, the words urgent on his lips.

I hadn't been expecting him to speak, only to ghost in that direction unthinkingly, but regardless, his accuracy—for a beginner—was extremely precise. "Yes," I approved. "Now… Wait for the breeze again and…" The wind shifted, ruffling my hair, and I felt the muscles in my calves bunch, eager to run. Again, the fire swept my throat. "What do you smell?" I whispered to him.

He inhaled deeply once, and then again. I breathed in the familiar smell of wild game with him, wanting to track them at once but aware that I must let him take the first kill—lest his territorial instincts overcome him.

Suddenly, Beau's expression shifted, his nose wrinkling in clear distaste.

I laughed. Long since having grown accustomed to the taste of animal blood—it _was_ an acquired taste—I hardly noticed the vaguely unappetizing tang to it anymore. But in the beginning, I had not hidden my revulsion from Carine—in fact, complaining loudly, and often—and there had been many times when she'd seen this exact expression on my own newborn face.

"I know," I empathized, giggling, "But you'll get used to it."

"Three?" he murmured, unamused, refusing to be distracted.

"Close," I congratulated him. "Five. There are two more in the trees behind them."

"What do I do now?" His voice was strained, barely belted desire clearly discernible within its beautiful cadence, and I smiled.

"What do you feel like doing?" I hummed.

He breathed in a couple more times, and then I felt his muscles stiffen underneath my hands, instinct catching on. His eyes flew open, on fire with heedless thirst, undeniably savage. The sight of them sent a thrill through me. He didn't look at me, only stared past me in the direction of the little gathering, leaning slightly forward, ready.

"Don't think about it." I removed my hands and took a step back, wanting to give him room. "Just follow your instincts."

He darted into the trees, his eyes unfocused, and I followed behind as he wove between the trees toward the water—drawn toward the scent of blood like a moth to a flame. It was a matter of only seconds before we came upon the small clearing. The large buck was still standing in the center, head raised in high alert, while the does retreated into the trees on the other side of the space.

I paused an adequate distance away and watched him crouch in the brush, his eyes fixed possessively, needful, on the stag. The muscles in his legs and arms were bunched, tensed and ready to spring, and I admired them lustfully.

The breeze shifted again—reaching him first and then, half a second later, it reached me, the idiot who stood downwind when I should have been standing upwind, in which case, I would have been able to catch the scent first, and react accordingly. Like Jessamine would have done, or even Eleanor, who, all slights aside, was not the brightest star in the sky.

Beau was already off, bolting headlong in the humans' direction.

A very unladylike word slipped between my lips as I immediately shot after him.

Our abrupt movements spooked the herd, and they scattered immediately, but they were the least of my concerns now. I raced headlong through the trees and frozen underbrush in pursuit of Beau as he careened, savagely graceful, through the thickening Illinois forest, tracking the scent he'd just caught.

 _Stupid, stupid_ humans! Why had they ventured so far into the wilderness— _especially_ at this time of year? What were they _thinking_?

I berated myself for having just been standing there—stupidly admiring the beauty with which he'd crept toward his prey, crouched stealthily in the dry bush—when I should have gone ahead, scouted the area, circled the region vigilantly, to make sure something like this _didn't happen_!

Ahead of me, Beau's lithesome form weaved in and out of the trees a couple hundred yards in front of me. As I pushed my legs harder, the memory pummeled through my mind, matching the strength of its object: a situation very much like this one, but taking place almost seventy-five years ago. I had been chasing a newborn then, too, except that time it had been Eleanor, and I hadn't been alone. Regardless, I had been the only hope of matching the massive strength with which my new sister had been able to vault her body across the landscape. Carine and Royal had also run as fast as they could, but they had trailed many paces behind me.

That time, it hadn't been only my panicked thoughts whirling through my head. They'd been Carine's, and Royal's, too.

 _Please hurry, Edythe,_ Royal had thought frantically, _Please catch her!_

 _You must stop her, Edythe! She will regret this if we aren't successful!_

That time, I had been too late…

But that time, I reminded myself intractably, had been different. El had had several hundred yards on me, and the human had been closer.

I judged the distance between myself and Beau as I increased my speed urgently. A mere hundred and fifty feet now; I knew I could reach him, but when I did… Could I restrain him on my own? He would be all instinct now, powered by the carnal lust for the taste of blood—at that, the unmatched blissful lure of human blood. Doing it by myself would be almost impossible… And dangerous, for both of us. I was smaller than him, weaker. Speed could only carry me so far.

But I _had_ to try.

My best chance would be to grab him from behind, to attempt to pin him to the ground and try to talk some sense into him… But would I be strong enough to hold him there? And would he even be able to listen to reason?

The thought of attacking my own husband made me sick, but if I could delay him until a fresh breeze blew through, there might be hope… I had talked both El and Royal, and even Earnest, down in the past, although they had been weeks, months older than Beau was now…

As long as it had been since I had fed, I could feel my own instincts begin to rise up inside me in response to the scent of human blood, carrying on the wind, setting fire to my parched throat, fragmenting my focus.

For Beau, the pain, the aberration, would be ten times worse.

I shook the thought off as I closed another three dozen feet between us, and Beau's head suddenly cocked to the side, hearing me draw closer. I saw the set of his shoulders change, stiffen defensively, and knew that he'd sensed my presence, and that the only other thing that would register in his mind now was the act of self-preservation, the need to defend what was his.

 _I_ knew that wasn't my intention, and I knew the logical side of my husband wouldn't believe it either; but as wholly as he'd given himself over to the hunting reflex, would that even occur to him? Probably not.

I slowed slightly, holding my arms out in a defensive position as he pivoted smoothly to face me, cleanly sinking into an attack crouch as he slid the last few feet to a stop, disrupting the rotting, chilled mulch beneath him in the process.

The expression on his face was fierce, monstrous, entirely unrecognizable, as a territorial growl ripped up from the depths of his chest and out through his clenched, shining teeth. For the first time in my life, I felt a genuine thrill of fear in response to him. He was so strikingly terrifying like this that, for a moment, I froze.

In the same moment of my own hesitation, he seemed to pause, too. Something shifted in his expression, but I was too distracted by my own strategies of defense that I couldn't take the time to analyze that now. The most important thing would be for me to keep his hands off of me. He would hurt me in a fight, that much was obvious, and once the ruby haze had cleared from his mind, he _would_ feel horrible about it. So if I could maybe get around behind him, or—

I noticed that he was still frozen, hadn't made a move to advance on me yet, and a new possibility formed in my mind. If I didn't move, if I backed up a few steps, would he feel content that I was no longer a threat, and turn back toward the scent of the humans? If he did, that would allow me to spring at his back, and if I could do that, then maybe I would have a chance—

And then, impossibly, I saw another inexplicable shift in his face. The fire seemed to drain from his eyes, guttered by… what? His fearsome grimace faded, and he jerked upright so harshly that I could barely discern the movement. His arms dropped to his sides, entirely defenseless, his face horror-stricken now, and I, too, relaxed my defensive posture, albeit more warily.

As I stared at him, struggling to discern _what_ he was doing, or thinking, I realized with amazement that he was holding his breath. There was no threat on his face now, no sign of warning in his body language. In fact, he looked so unbelievably vulnerable in this moment, that my arms dropped and I took a small, tentative step toward him.

Had he been momentarily distracted by something? I couldn't hear or smell what it might have been, but did that matter? If I could take advantage of this small interference, maybe I could convince him to—

"I gotta get out of here," he spat between his teeth, still not breathing, his eyes growing wild again, but this time with a different emotion. Panic, desperation.

I felt paralyzed with disbelief. " _Can_ you leave?"

It was the wrong question to ask, of course. My more experienced role as negotiator would have said something much more supportive, but I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing and hearing. Never before had I seen one of our kind stop themselves in the midst of a hunt— _especially_ a vampire so young!

Beau didn't answer me; he was running again, this time back the way we'd come, never looking back. I could do nothing but gaze after him, face blank with bewilderment, until he vanished from my sight, and then thrust myself forward into the wake of his trail.

Confusion and astonishment cascaded over me like the notes of his scent left behind as I followed his course back through the trees, moving even faster than he had while he'd been hunting the humans. How was this _possible_? He wasn't even an hour old, had not even fed for the first time, and he had stopped himself, broke off the hunt, _after_ scenting a human! Had _run away_! Incredible!

My family would not believe this report; it didn't fit with the truth of history, this impossible reality. They would be beyond shocked, and Carine beyond intrigued.

I blew past him, distracted by my bewildered thoughts, before I realized he'd stopped running. I whirled around, expecting him to have turned back once more, mania overtaking reason, but found him, extraordinarily, standing stock still in the middle of the non-existent path, staring at me with something close to suspicion, or maybe irritation.

He _should_ be irritated with me! Because of my idiotic inattentiveness, he'd almost been cost an irreplaceable mark on his untarnished conscience!

"I'm so sorry!" I gasped, going to him and taking him by the hands, too upset to be careful, only happy to be able to touch him again, to have him here, solid, underneath my palms. "I should have been—"

"You let me win back there, didn't you?" he blurted, interrupting me.

I felt my body lock down with stupefaction in response to his question. Win? Back there? But he had accomplished no reward—

The thought broke off in my mind, snapped like a stiff twig, as the realization took hold. He wasn't talking about just now; he was referring to the carefree race we'd taken part of earlier! How was that _feasible_? How could that even touch the sphere of his cognizance in this moment?

I shook my head in amazement. "Beau, how did you do that?"

"Run away?" he asked. "I held my breath." The words were heavily weighted with obviousness, as if I should have been able to answer my own question easily.

I forced myself to focus on one incredible feat at a time. "But how did you stop hunting?"

"When I heard you behind me—oh, yeah. I'm really sorry about that—"

"Why are you apologizing to _me_?" I demanded, my tone metallic and diaphanous with disbelief. I felt my eyebrows arch high on my forehead. " _I'm_ the one who was so unbelievably careless! I should not have assumed anyone would be so far from the path—but I'm not familiar with this region; I haven't hunted here in a long time." I shook my head cursorily. "Regardless, I should have gone ahead to scout the area; I should have checked first. Such a thoughtless oversight! _You_ have nothing to apologize for, Beau!"

His brows knit together. "But… But I growled at you," he protested, horrified.

"Of course you did!" I almost wanted to laugh—almost. But he hadn't attacked me. I'd been expecting _that_. "That's only natural, Beau. But I can't understand how you _ran away_!"

Incomprehension flashed through his eyes. "What else _was_ there to do, Edythe?"

The absolute absurdity of his words rolled over me like a wave, drowning me in bewilderment, and now I did burst into slightly hysterical laughter. _Oh,_ how I loved this man and all his incongruous peculiarities! The bewilderment gave way to staggering relief that he hadn't killed anyone, and then to awe at his utter, unexpected magnificence! All that worrying—and here he was, showing more restraint than even certain members of my family!

" _Why are you laughing at me_?" he snarled, his eyes flashing with sudden rage.

I immediately smothered my manic chortling and regarded him warily. I'd detest myself if I drove him to attack due to my own intolerable comportment. I saw his eyes cool and knew, with no small amount of certainty, that he had worked hard to regain control. I rushed to assuage him.

"I'm not laughing at you, Beau," I assured him softly, "I'm laughing because I am in shock. And I am in shock because I am completely, utterly amazed."

"Why?"

I gazed up at him, fighting back a smile. If only he were able to see into my own mind, if only for a few moments—so he could see and compare the images of a newborn Eleanor I saw dance behind my eyes now—crashing through budding spring foliage, destroying furniture and clothing and trees, crushing the form of every animal she'd fed on for the first two years… He only needed to watch a moment to draw the paradoxes between the two of them.

"You shouldn't be able to do any of this," I told him, lifting a palm to lay it alongside his marble cheek. "You shouldn't be able to listen to reason or rationale. You shouldn't be able to stand here discussing this with me calmly and coolly. And, much more than any of that, you should _not_ have been able to break off mid-hunt with the scent of human blood in the air! Even mature vampires struggle to do so—we're always very cautious of where we hunt so as not to put ourselves in the path of temptation." I momentarily berated myself for stupidly releasing him in the vicinity of such, the very first time he should hunt. "Beau—you're behaving as if you're decades old rather than days!"

"Oh," he said, and his brow crinkled again. So many emotions flickered through his eyes, too many to even hope to decipher, and the age-old frustration plagued me. What could he possibly be _thinking_? Again, I pushed against the impassible barrier of his mind, and failed.

I sighed, and lifted my free hand to rest it along the other side of his perfect, sharply angled face. "What wouldn't I give to be able to see into your mind for just this one moment," I murmured wistfully.

His eyes seared again, this time with a new emotion, one that I thought I recognized, but couldn't quite bring myself to believe he might be experiencing. His hands lifted to my own face, tracing my features with the tips of his fingers which seemed a conduit, trailing electricity across the surface of my lips, nose, cheeks and eyelids. One of his hands combed itself through my hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands.

Intense heat, heat of an entirely different kind from the temperature change I'd experienced when he'd been human, radiated across the surface of my skin in response to his touch, and then sunk underneath, permeating every part of me until it funneled into a fire deep inside my belly, achingly sweet, potently distracting.

Suddenly, there was nothing I wanted more than to pull him with me to the forest floor, to brush aside the minor inconvenience of clothing and consume him in the way his improved strength promised would be possible. No more reason to be careful, no more reason to hold myself back…

But I resisted this urge, reminding myself that the emotion which burned so intensely in his eyes must be thirst. I was sure, if I wrapped my arms around his neck and crushed my lips to his with as much ferocity as I craved, that I would not receive the reaction I was hoping for. He must be beyond mere thirst now, his desiccated throat burning away any other possible desire. The burn in my own throat, as I scented a large cat more than a mile eastward, was becoming a nuisance all its own.

"I didn't think…" he breathed now. His other hand swept up into my hair as well, lacing with the other at the back of my skull, cradling my head in his hands. "That I'd feel like this again… For a long time… But—I still _want_ you."

I was startled by this astonishing turn of events. How could it be that his thoughts, the yearnings in his body, had been following the same path as my own? I shook my head, refuting the strong urge within me to answer his words with physical affections. "How can you even concentrate on that right now? Aren't you _incredibly_ thirsty?"

I saw the muscles pull in around his throat convulsively as he swallowed, hunger stampeding through his countenance. "Yeah—now that you mention it."

Again, I felt the expression of overwhelming astonishment sweep over my face, but he wasn't paying attention to that now. He'd closed his eyes again, breathing deeply through his nose. A moment later, his eyes flashed open, on fire with thirst, unfocused, staring straight through me once more.

And he was off.

This time, I kept a larger margin of space between us as Beau flew through the trees, bending swiftly into a hunter's crouch, magnificent and powerful. Even so, I concentrated on our surroundings, keeping eyes, ears and nose out for anymore human presence. We didn't encounter any this time.

As we traversed the ruined, frozen landscape, the forest thickening subtly, I felt myself relax somewhat. This deep into the forest, I highly doubted we would encounter any humans.

Within seconds, Beau was approaching the mountain lion, stalking its own prey in the branches high above. Ruled entirely by instinct now, Beau vaulted into the towering elm above us.

It was rare luck to find a mountain lion so easily, especially a male of this size. I watched as Beau easily gripped branches, nimbly swinging himself higher with one hand, and then the other, drawing closer to the carnivorous cat who remained still oblivious to our presence, watching the twitch of the smaller animal in the crusted, dead foliage below.

Incongruous panic tightened in my chest as I watched him near the large animal.

 _He might fall!_

 _The lion might harm him!_

Even as the thoughts barreled through my mind, I recognized them for the falsifications they were. The cat would be no match for Beau now, nor would the trees. In fact, they were more at risk of falling than _he_ was.

But I couldn't help the anxiety that gripped me as I waited below, pacing, and listening intensely as his quiet movements—the contact of his fingers and bare feet with the branches, the low, even rhythm of his breathing—converged on the thudding pulses of the lion's heart.

I stopped breathing, my fingers balled into fists, as I heard the lion slow, sensing Beau's approach. Anticipation and fear blocked my throat, and I searched wildly through the branches, finally finding them just as my ears registered the faint whistle of the flight of Beau's body through the air, a solid but quiet impact as he landed on the wide bough, and then a bloodcurdling shriek from the cat. Beau didn't hesitate. He threw himself at the animal, powerful, muscular arms curling around its three hundred pound form, and they plummeted together toward the forest floor.

Horror overcame me, and I bolted toward them as the cat's claws raked at Beau's torso in his struggle to free himself, tearing at skin, hair and clothing, mangling his perfect body, inflicting irreversible damage—no. There was no blood, no rending of flesh—only the soft shred of fabric under the cat's futile claws, and the squeal against the granite of his chest and belly as the lion failed to find purchase. His furious squalls rent the air as his teeth flashed, closing on Beau's neck and shoulders, but unable to penetrate.

He was invincible, I reminded myself. The cat could not harm him. All the tension in my chest deflated as the inexplicable protective instinct faded in the light of logic, and I watched Beau open his mouth, teeth glinting in the moonlight, and then close around the artery in the cat's neck.

The cat howled in protest and pain, its legs and mouth working furiously, still fighting, all to no avail, of course. The cat would not rise victorious from this duel. He would not hurt Beau, _nothing_ would, ever again.

And instead of the panic that had swept through me before, now I watched with profound satisfaction as my husband fed, drinking in the cat's blood in long, gulping pulls. I admired the long muscles in his back and legs tense, his arms caging the animal in so it could not escape, trapped underneath him. His skin glinted through the tears in the fabric of his shirt, glowing in the light of the stars. I had watched Archie, Royal and Earnest hunt before, of course. But never had the scene been the slightest bit arousing to me.

I had never been able to understand the lustful thoughts that had overcome my sisters, and even my mother, while watching their husbands hunt, and the inevitable union upon returning home, wherever home had been at the time—or, sometimes, not even that far.

But now I understood, fully appreciating the scene before me. Beau and the lion were tangled on the dirt forest floor, my husband's long limbs twisted around the cat as he drank eagerly. His dark hair was wild, from running and from the cat's fruitless gestures of resistance, leaves and twigs tangled within it. His face and hands covered in dirt and blood. And the long, seamless lines of gleaming white skin exposed by the cat's destruction of his clothing. My hands and lips tingled with sudden—difficult to suppress—longing. I wanted to run my hands over the hard, defined muscles of his chest, back and legs, wanting to lavish his new marble flesh with kisses and affection, wanted to press my own bare flesh to his, to experience again that strange heat between us—so different from the smoldering heat of his hands on me while he'd been human.

I leaned on the tree behind me and crossed my arms over my breasts to smother the urge, feeling breathless at the thought, watching as the cat's strangled cries of vindication quieted, and then ceased, its movements slowing too until it lay still.

When he was finished, he pulled abruptly away, hopping nimbly to his feet, and turned immediately to where I lingered against the tree, trying hard not to swoon. Dirt and blood streaked his chin, neck, hands, arms and legs. Long claw marks exposed most of his chest beneath the shirt, hanging in tattered shreds from his broad shoulders.

I hummed with extreme pleasure at the sight of him.

He looked down at himself, brows crinkling, and then glanced up at me again, giving a slight shrug. "I guess that could have gone down smoother," he said.

I laughed, if only to cover the lust that surged full force through my veins now, leaving me trembling and very nearly gasping with desire. "You were incredible," I assured him, the words almost a purr, as I straightened and walked toward him, circling him slowly to take in the full view. "It's just that… it was much more difficult for me to watch than it should have been."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as I trailed my fingers across a large rip in the shirt across his shoulder blades.

"It goes against the grain, letting you wrestle with lions. I was having an anxiety attack the whole time," I admitted.

He shook his head slightly, laughing at me.

"Truly, I was," I insisted. "Old habits die hard, I suppose…" I hummed, using the words he'd spoken before. "I like the improvements to your outfit, though…"

His eyes brightened slightly, making me think he appreciated the compliment, and then embarrassment flittered across his features. He caught my fingers, which had begun to creep their way beneath the loose folds of his ruined shirt, and frowned.

"Why am I still thirsty?" he wondered.

"Because you're young." _And powerful… and strong… and magnificent… and utterly, breathlessly attractive._

He exhaled heavily. "And I'm guessing the rest of this guy's family aren't around?" He gestured toward the still form of the dead mountain lion lying a few feet away.

I laughed. "I don't suppose so… Plenty of deer, though."

He grimaced. "Yum." His voice was heavy-laden with sarcasm.

I grinned. "Herbivores," I explained. "The meat-eaters smell, and taste, better because they're more like humans."

His crimson eyes flickered back toward the lion. "Not exactly," he murmured, almost to himself.

I laughed again, charmed as ever. "I love you," I said, brushing my fingers against his. "I don't think I've ever known anyone so incredible."

He rolled his eyes and smirked, making a small sound of humorous doubt in the back of his throat. "Whatever. Let's go find us some reeking herbivores."

I grinned, and he pulled me along with him.

.


	21. Venery

**A/N:** "Dangerous Animals" by Arctic Monkeys inspired this chapter. Be forewarned—mature content ahead!

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We located a second, larger herd of ungulate without trouble. I decided to leave the more specific tracking lessons for another day.

Despite the plenitude of space inside my mind to process the miracle of _this_ , Beau's hand in mine, the smooth ease of his limbs as he ran next to me, I still was unable to entirely believe it. I had been cautious for so long about even regarding this possibility with any sense of tangibility—and then, having believed with such black certainty that it never _would_ be—I felt a hypnagogic sense of detachment, as if I were floating three feet above the ground. As faded and disjointed as memories of these things were, I felt as if present within a dream from which I would be perfectly content never to wake.

But as we closed steadily on our meal, Beau's eyes intensified, shifting from light-hearted blithe to undeniable, relentless thirst. He pulled his hand from mine with wrenching suddenness and I smiled a little as he lurched, quite suddenly and without a stitch of the hesitation he'd shown earlier, toward the magisterial stag ensconced in the center of the gathering. It hadn't taken him long at all to catch on, of course.

Wanting to watch the incredible, sensual feat once more, I paused at the edge of the clearing, but found—quite unexpectedly—that it was a struggle to remain where I was. Unlike the first instance, I was not driven by anxiety for his wellbeing, but instead by the irresistible and contagious pull of the hunt. I could feel my awareness begin to dissolve in response to the warmth of the potent smell of animal fear.

Beau flew from the trees and sailed across the small space, slamming frankly into the buck's side—shattering its ribs—and scattering the others into an explosive, terrified uproar.

And then all hope of restraint vanished as the stag's blood rent the icy air, steaming and rich.

I sprung, unthinkingly, for the nearest fleeing doe, her glassy eyes wild with terror and gripped her by the ruff, my other hand taking hold of her jaw and twisting decisively. Her neck snapped cleanly, her wheeling legs going limp underneath her as the light in her eyes went out. I said a small prayer of thanksgiving—a habit learned from Carine, a Gaelic prayer she'd learned in the 18th century from a group of vegetarian hunters in Scotland—and sank gratefully to my knees in the frozen grass.

I sank my teeth into the shaggy neck and drew great, long pulls—not realizing, until now, how very thirsty I had been.

My vision seemed to constrict, fading around the edges as the soothing roar of euphoria filled my ears, drowning out all other noise or distraction. The silken, hot liquid soaked the walls of my parched throat, cooling the blaze there in spite of its heat.

In less than ten seconds, I'd drained the body through the expedient of slashed artery and decades of proficiency, and reached for another animal, not yet sated.

But as I swallowed the last drop of ichorous sustenance from the first, clarity surged, if briefly, blaringly, through my mind.

I glanced up, looking around for Beau in a sudden, disconcerted panic, but found him reassuringly where he'd cut down the buck, still feeding, eyes open but glazed over with rapture.

In time, he would learn to shorten the process by feeding more deeply, and from a larger artery, but for now he drank in anxious, short gulps—only focused, I assumed, on the act of swallowing to soothe the scorching pain in his throat.

Turning my attentions back to my own hunt, I took the four long strides necessary to snatch a bewildered young buck from its muddled escape course. It, too, I drained in a matter of seconds, and as I discarded the floppy, bloodless carcass, Beau sat up, wiping an arm across his blood-smeared lips and chin.

He leapt to his feet, dragging his fingers distractedly through his hair as he watched the remaining deer regroup and head into the trees.

"Want to chase them?" I queried playfully, seeing the longing on his face. Truth be told, I wasn't entirely satiated either.

Beau turned to me, his eyes lighting up as a grin stretched his lips. "Let's do it," he replied, and we shot into the forest after them, side by side.

I gripped the flank of the nearest animal, which happened to be a small—but sufficient—older doe. She bleated with alarm as I bore down on her, and reared wildly, her hooves tangling beneath her in clumsy panic. I swung easily into her path and steadied her, dirt and perspiration spraying up around her as she scrambled to a stop and tried to turn; but I was too fast for her.

I clutched the fur on one shoulder to hold her steady and flattened the other palm against her breastbone, pressing her head up and away from me until I heard the spine give way, this one breaking further down.

I drank without indulgence, not feeling the need to take my time, and as I finished, I had the sudden impression that I was being watched.

As anticipated, when I looked up, Beau was standing still and alone, with no carcass at his feet.

I was abruptly taken aback by the expression on his face, his eyes glowing with such carnal appreciation that it made me quiver.

"No longer thirsty?" I asked.

He shook his head. "You're distracting," he admitted, his bright, feral eyes flickering from my face to my hair and then down the front of my spotless cream shirt. "You're really good at that—way better than me."

I felt suddenly shy under the laser-focused heat of his assessing gaze, my body responding immediately to his flattering appraisal, the rakish, thorough graze of his bright new eyes.

"Centuries of practice," I quipped, trying vainly to quash the yearning pummeling thorough my veins, stronger than the satisfaction of a recent feed.

"One, actually," he argued, and took a light, almost unconscious step toward me.

I felt locked in his inexorable stare as he stopped in front of me, the scent of his skin, his hair and the bold tang of drying blood all combining to create a new, intoxicating, perfume.

"Are you done for tonight?" I murmured as he lifted his hand to stroke my hair. "Or did you want to continue?"

I didn't know if he caught the double meaning of my words, or if he was so focused on his own train of thought that he didn't even hear my words, but he didn't respond either way.

His eyes burned bright crimson, hot as magma—undimmed by the animal blood—as he trailed his hand down the side of my face and curving to fit the column of my throat. The other lifted, slowly so that I knew he was being exceedingly careful, and his fingertips brushed my cheek.

I could see that he was using a large portion of his concentration to touch me as gently as he did, but even if I wanted to speak, I didn't know if I'd be able to, choked with lust as I was.

Beau turned so that he was fully facing me, and dropped the hand that had been stroking my throat, his arm curling slowly around my waist, steady and constricting as a boa, as he drew me firmly against him.

Still, his eyes never left mine, and they glowed ravenously now as his thumb passed over my lips and down my chin.

 _Hungry,_ I thought, _But no longer for blood._

Desire swept through me, filling me with a sudden and startling spike of heat that sparked in my palms and the soles of my feet.

I stretched up on my toes, setting my hands on his shoulders—softly, for a sixteenth of a second, and then harder. I was suddenly and scrupulously driven wild by the feel of his bare skin through the tears in his clothing, by the tangible and unwavering strength of his body under my hands—feet firm though I leaned heavily against him, skin unwilling to cave under my pressing fingers—and the singular, unremitting truth that we were alone now.

 _Screw Archie's cottage._ I thought.

I coiled my arms around his neck, knotting my fingers into the slightly waving hair at the base of his skull, and then crushed myself recklessly against him, taking his mouth with an almost violent passion.

In the traditional way that made him Beau, he immediately lost control, his lips overpowering mine in a contusing, unfamiliar way as he dragged me flush against him. His mouth had always been warm and soft and sweet, but kissing him was different now, his lips firm against mine, his tongue battling equally for dominance, the taste of venison blood lingering in the moist, smooth lining of his mouth, still warm from feeding.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat, one hand tracing the slope of my waist and hip, unwittingly shredding the fabric of my blouse as he dragged his fingers earnestly along my body.

I uncurled one arm from around his neck and ghosted my fingers down his chest, along the silken, exposed skin beneath his ruined shirt. My touch on his bare skin seemed to have the same effect on him as his hands had on me, and he pressed tighter against me so that I was forced backward. I felt suddenly, curiously, off balance—left without the usually solid and unwavering sense of equilibrium I had always relied on, and then, too late, I realized I was falling backward.

 _Beau was pushing me over!_

I meant to keep our mouths melded as we toppled into the forest bracken, but I couldn't fight the burst of effervescent, astonished delight that bubbled up my throat as I landed on my back, Beau bracing himself above me automatically as his breath pressed from his lungs in sudden shock.

"I'm sorry," he said, hovering above me, his face adorably, needlessly anxious. "I definitely didn't mean to take you out like that. Are you okay?"

I let the last bubbles of laughter evaporate on my lips, and cradled his beautiful, charming face in my hands, still grinning so hugely that I could feel the hollows of dimples in my cheeks. "I'm slightly better than _okay_ , Beau," I assured him, and then tilted my chin up until my lips touched his again.

As our mouths melded back into unison, I meant to roll as to feel him underneath me, but found myself unable to do so. The length of his body pressed insistently against mine, pinning me to the ground as he trailed his lips down my jaw and throat. His hands raked demandingly down my front as he brushed away what was left of my shirt.

I groped at his back and shoulders with equal fervor, grinding away the blue silk so that I could feel more of his skin on mine. With a small part of my mind, I memorized the marble sleekness of his skin, perfect and flawless, underneath my fingertips. The larger part of me was concentrating on the incredible electricity between us, building in intensity as Beau lowered his head between my breasts, his hands clutching my hips, pressing them almost painfully into the forest floor as he held me still.

He was an unstoppable, sensual force as his lips swept across my skin, his tongue lapping at my vulnerable flesh, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake as the air touched the moist places he left behind. Then his lips fastened with vice-like strength onto my right nipple and I gasped.

Where before his ministrations had been feather light and sweet, now they were indomitable and ferocious, demanding responses from my body—which it gladly gave. I arched sharply against his mouth as his hands roamed lower, across the dipped curve of my stomach and beyond, the denim of my jeans long-since destroyed. His head followed their path, surprising me, tongue dipping into my navel, and then littering kisses along my inner thighs.

This was new territory, something we hadn't explored before; but I lifted my hips, pressing against the gentle wash of his breath, my body begging for more, though my mind wished he would slow down, to savor this first time of many more in our forever to come. Beau's nimble tongue and pliant lips pushed forth, heedless and determined, and the wave crested and crashed and before long, I was sailing over the precipice, gasping and moaning his name, my fingers tangling, pulling harshly, at his hair as the universe seemed to explode behind my eyelids, blowing apart every molecule of my being, and then snapping them back together with an intensity that was dizzying.

His lips ascended my body again and then his mouth latched to mine once more. With no need for any sort of recovery, I returned the kiss with equal willingness, pushing against his shoulders again.

He didn't get the message, his arms caging me in, inescapable as his mouth eclipsed the power of my own, overpowering and consuming me.

Breaths coming shallowly, I pried my lips from his and sucked kisses down his neck, willing words to form on my lips. Every part of me was disjointed and half-formed, and it took a certain amount of willpower to conjure the words I was looking for.

"Please," I finally breathed, "Roll over."

He flipped us with a suddenness that was startling; I still wasn't used to his reflexes being so responsive, but finding myself situated above him, I didn't hesitate. I planned to worship him with as much ardor as he had just adulated me. But his hands, one tracing the vertebrae of my lower spine, the other circling the pink tip of my left breast, were distracting, and I reached for them, interlacing my fingers with his to still their ministrations.

He let me flatten his hands against the ground by his head, and I kept my palms flat against his as I bent to kiss him again, slowly and passionately, so he'd get the message.

"Don't move," I whispered against his lips, and then began my own exploration of his body, loving the feel of his pearly skin against my lips and tongue, tasting the refreshing coolness of his scent that coalesced into ambrosia on my tongue. I ran my hands over every part of him I could reach, marveling at the firm repudiation of his former human form, and adoring all the familiar parts of him that had not changed, only had been fortified, taking on the diamond brilliance that heralded our kind.

I had just begun to extend the same courtesy as he had to me, wondering, awe-filled, at this new experience, something I'd always been too scared to explore due to the necessary closeness of my teeth to a very vulnerable part of his body, when I felt his hands on me again, drifting ghostlike over my shoulders, and then up into my hair. His breaths had been coming in wild gasps, but now he was quiet, all apart from the steady, vibrating thrum of a low growl in his chest. The sound sent little quivers over the surface of his skin, tingling against my lips, where I cradled a part of him firmer and stronger—at least in this moment—than all the others.

His hands tightened their hold in my hair, tugging roughly, jerking my head. I ran my hands gently up his thighs and over his hips, and the lightness of my touch seemed to remind him. His fingers released their hold immediately, and then struck the frozen ground beneath him in a clawing like motion. He raked at the dirt and bracken, mining furrows into the foundation as the sound in his chest gained volume, resonating in his throat now.

I fought the slight smile that jerked at the corner of my lips, recognizing this action in myself during the days of our honeymoon. Now it was _him_ having to channel the excess urges.

Underneath me, every muscle in his body was tensed, coiled, as if preparing to spring on a kill, his hips rising and falling steadily. I matched their rhythm automatically, feeling the subtle growth and further inurement that preceded climax in my mouth.

I fixed my eyes on the unmoving plane of his abdomen and chest, remembering the way they'd pulsed with his pounding heart in our couplings before the change. Now, that indication regarding how close he was to the edge, was gone. And in a way that took me a little off guard, he erupted, throwing his head back with a voluminous groan of pleasure, his eyes squeezed tight shut against the flood of sensation and emotion.

Of course, I had nothing to compare my own pleasure to, but I wondered how different this would be, experiencing this kind of physical gratification first as a human, and now, with the enhanced senses of a vampire.

Again, I gave him a minute to recover his bearings—though his breathing evened out almost immediately—risen only in response to emotion rather than physical exertion—he kept his eyes closed for a long moment.

Then they opened, brilliant and shining, and fixed on mine. "Holy crow," he breathed, a slow grin splitting his face.

I laughed softly. "That good, huh?"

"Uh huh." He sat up and pushed on my shoulders until I was pressed into the earth again, and then covered my mouth with his again for long, passionate moments. Then he pulled back, brushing his nose against mine. "Why am I still…?"

"Because you're young," I crooned, combing my fingers through his hair, raking my nails against his scalp, "And strong, and everything is heightened as a vampire—your fundamental makeup, for one, but also your senses and emotions; not to mention the bodily pleasure that comes from lovemaking and its resulting orgasm—"

Beau's mouth crushed mine again as he moaned, stirring the same sudden yearning in myself, and I clutched at the hair between my fingers, pulling firmly. He grinned against my lips at this, one hand stirring up the smoldering embers of desire as it lingered between us. As he slipped one long, deft finger inside of me, the cinders suddenly burst into conflagration again, and I tipped my head back, sighing wantonly. The sensations he was emitting inside me, finding my exact sweet spot with baffling, immediate accuracy, had me craving more, _needing_ him.

"Oh, please," I gasped, my legs beginning to shudder as he curled that finger and increased the pace of its thrust. No matter how much I wanted to restrain myself, to hold off, Beau knew my body—maybe better than I knew it myself, and again, it betrayed me, rocketing toward the height of pleasure, heedless of the fact that I wanted to be connected to him as one flesh the next time.

"Beau—Beau, please… Need you," I breathed. "Right now."

Though his speed and precision was unmatched now, he'd barely lined himself up before I wrapped my legs around his thighs and drove my hips up and forward, sheathing him fully. His breath escaped in a hiss, and mine in a loud moan of satisfaction, as I surrounded him and, in contrast, he filled me.

For a moment, he hesitated, his crimson eyes fixed on mine with a confusing mixture of adoration and concern. I dug my heels into his backside, and yanked on his shoulders impatiently. "Please move."

He did, his thrusts deep and ruthless in an unsophisticated coupling meant to purge the weeks of frustration and fear and doubt—and, partially, only because he wasn't yet aware of his own strength. I could feel the push of each thrust, filling me completely, the slope of his manhood prodding at my empty womb with a sudden shock of sensation each time.

Comfortable in the utter lack of need for caution now, I gripped him with desperate eagerness, running my nails down his back as the pleasure built swiftly and potently in the pit of my stomach. I held onto him with all of my strength, overjoyed at the fact that I couldn't hurt him anymore, and was surprised to feel every shift of muscle as our pleasure seemed to funnel into one, whirling faster and faster toward the point of no return.

It was as if the old adage had become true: we were one flesh, one soul, one person, and in the exact moment that I came undone, he did, too, and there was no difference between our pleasure—double the intensity, double the strength, because we shared it so.

As Beau curled his body around mine on the dirt floor of the forest, I glimpsed the height of the moon through the skeletal trees above us, and I turned over so that I could press my lips to his.

"Happy New Year, Beau," I whispered.

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 **A/N:** So… A little spicier than usual—but I figured that would come with the territory with Beau as a new vampire, and the extinguished need for any kind of boundary between the two. Unfortunately, the next one isn't going to be so carefree :( Beau will have to learn about Renee sometime… But we'll also get to know more about his new sister, as well! So there are good things to come as well.


	22. Quick, Slightly Tragic Update

Hi, everyone. I'm aware it's been one of the longest waits ever, and I apologize profusely for that. It's going to be just a quick and briefly tragic update for you here. Please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes, as I'm updating on my phone...

Here we go. Bad news first. After many ongoing problems with my laptop that have contributed to my sustained, unexplained and and unexpected absences from ff, it finally and thoroughly died. As an insanely frustrating result, I've lost all future DD plot lines, sub-plots, side notes, rough drafts, and all manner of other details. UGH!

THUS—my hiatus explained.

However, I'm working on re-writing everything and will have the next chapter up as soon as I can and have not given up on Edythe and Beau.

Now onto some good news. I've been working on some (very amateur) fanart, and will try and find a way to share that with you all! Maybe make it my profile pic?

Hope you're all well, had a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Kwanza or other various holidays and a Happy New Year! Hang in there, and see you soon!

xo, Madi (WinterSunshine)


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